


Grains of Sugar

by freakylemurcat



Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 27,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/pseuds/freakylemurcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fluffy nonsenses, ranging from tooth-meltingly sweet to painfully tart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glycoaldehyde

They act like such different people.

Usami Akihiko is tall and blond and beautiful, and he knows it. He exudes confidence, a man who knows he can handle the world when it turns to him. Nothing seems beyond him – he has a law degree, enough intelligence to tackle anything and a mind filled to the brim with stories.

Takahashi Misaki is short and brunette and very cute, although he's not sure why anyone would think so. He's just an average college student, he tells himself, even with all of these not so average people who he just seems to attract. He can cook pretty well, and he can clean like a champion, but he doesn't see anything special about this.

But...

Usami Akihiko thinks of Usami Akihiko as pathetic; a loser who can't hold onto people, who just can't seem to find anyone who's willing to show him love. He's difficult and arrogant and spoilt, and he can't blame a soul for finding him hateful. He's learnt to hide his loneliness in stories, but it always seeps back to the real world. Always. He can't escape from it. He can't escape from himself.

Takahashi Misaki thinks of Takahashi Misaki as pathetic. Someone with no particular talents, no particular drive. Someone with no spine, no ability to stand up to anyone. He just wants everyone to be happy, because he's cost so many people their happiness before. It can never be about him, it has to be about them.

And...

Usami Akihiko loves Takahashi Misaki, because he's the least selfish person he's ever met. He's sweet and open and Akihiko has never met someone so determined to help everyone. He's never met anyone so determined to help _him_.

Takahashi Misaki loves Usami Akihiko, although he'd rather eat his own foot than ever confess it to anyone. For all the arrogance and coldness, the man is kind and gentle, desperate for affection and company and love, willing to do anything for a little taste of love.

So...

* * *

Glycoaldehyde is the simplest possible sugar, important in a reaction which may explain the origin of life. The 'formose reaction' allows simple molecules to be converted to more complicated and essential sugars, such as ribose, and one of the intermediates involved is the titular sugar.

The moral of this story is that the least complex things are intensely important still!


	2. Glyceraldehyde

* * *

Akihiko finds it depressing just how quickly he stops functioning when Misaki leaves. Even if it's only for a couple days or a long weekend to visit his brother, without Misaki there, Akihiko suddenly finds himself at a complete loss. It's like being a child again, or perhaps someone's faithful dog, waiting mournfully by the door for a length of time he can't quite seem to compute.

In the first day, he's still capable of vaguely rational behaviour, moping about and just generally sulking until Misaki calls to tell him that he's arrived safely at where's he's meant to be and ' _would you stop bloody worrying you great idiot_! _It's not like I'm even leaving the city!'_ There's still fresh food in the fridge, with notes on what to do exactly when he's cooking it. Some of them are insultingly simple – of course he knows how to turn the microwave on at the wall. Just because he doesn't pay much attention when he's cooking… The food comes out half burnt, half soggy anyway. Akihiko thinks he might just starve instead, and then proceeds directly to nearly slicing off one of his toes when he drops the plate. He bandages his toes with his sock and goes to sulk in his room.

By the next day, as per usual, he's tired and grumpy and hungry and Misaki's not going to call today unless something terrible happens, so he's on his own. Akihiko briefly thinks of visiting Hiroki and aggravating him just for old times' sake. But Hiroki has that very tall man now, the one who clearly does not like Akihiko for reasons that he'd rather not contemplate or ask about. And also his foot's so sore and swollen, he can't really walk anywhere. He chooses a book he's meant to read for ages and mopes the rest of the day away on the sofa.

On the third day, the hunger is painful and he's still sleep deprived because Suzuki no longer seems to cut it for snuggling purposes. His lungs feel cloudy because he's been sucking down cigarettes incessantly for the last few days, and his chest aches miserably every time it strikes him that if Misaki decides to leave him for good, this is how his whole life will be.

* * *

Glyceraldehyde is an intermediate in carbohydrate metabolism, also known as glycolysis, and is therefore essential for life. Glycolysis is the process that converts glucose into compounds like ATP that transfer energy within cells.

(Maaaaaan, I've depressed myself with this…)


	3. Dihydroxyacetone

No one can drink wine like Usagi-san. He practically purrs over his glasses of it, an alcoholic cat with his cream. He's almost certainly never drank the terrible sour cheap stuff, only the best vintages and grapes have ever graced his palate. He knows the grape varieties and the growing areas, and which years are nicest and how to prevent corking the bottle and he can rattle them all off the top of his head.

He plies Misaki with various bottles, and enjoys the results with his normal leering grin, and finally, the day after Misaki returns from his brother's, turns up with a bottle and a smile.

"You'll like this one," he grins, fetching two glasses and pouring generous measures into both. He takes a sniff of his and sighs, "Go on, Misaki. It's lovely. Just like yo-"

"Stop that! I'll drink it already!"

Akihiko watches him closely as he takes the glass. The liquid is rich and gurgling laviciously, the scent drifting up lazily. It smells like summer and flowers and freshly mown grass and Misaki cheerfully takes a mouthful. Wine rarely tastes as good as it smells, but this one is even better in his mouth. Misaki makes himself blush with that thought alone, the wine already accelerating the reflex. Across the table, Akihiko gives him a predatory smile and tops up the glass.

"You're trying to get me drunk," says Misaki without any malice. He takes another sip of his wine.

"Oh, why would I do that?" purrs Usagi-san, meeting Misaki's gaze and pushing the bottle an inch closer to the younger man. "Drink up."

* * *

Dihydroxacetone, or glycerine, is often derived from sugar beets or sugar cane and is used in self-tanning products and wine making, where it's used to affect the sweetness of the flavour. Mmmm, wine...


	4. Erythrose

Their tendency to start rose wars was becoming a great drain on Misaki's resources. He was all for giving his lover a few flowers whenever he's done something good –like won another award - that was allowable. But nowadays, every time he walks past that dratted flowershop, he ends up inside, buying something from the outrageously tall shop assistant.

And of course, Usagi-san was far too happy to match each yen Misaki spends with multitudes of his own, which was frustrating to someone intent on making the rich sod save his money for when he can't earn anymore.

Misaki's solution is two pot plants, set out on the balcony where they can absorb the majority of the light and threaten to grow overly bushy without constant pruning. But they flower with perfect, pale pink blooms that Misaki can present to Usagi-san any time he wants, for any reason he wants.

* * *

Can you taste the _fluuuuuuffffffffffffff..?_

Erythrose is a tetrose (a sugar containing four carbons) and, in its phosphorylated form, is found in the Calvin cycle. The Calvin cycle is part of photosynthesis, one of the energy synthesising processes used by plants.

And I keep spelling erythrose wrong. Why does it need a 'y'? _Why?_


	5. Threose

Valentine's Day is always a bit of a shambles where Akihiko is concerned. He doesn't know why, he just can't do the sort of romance Misaki is demanding.

He has the roses and the presents and he definitely has the technique to keeping Misaki in bed until noon down pat. It's just that, all things said and done, Misaki still yells at him about every single one of those things. The roses are too extravagant, the presents too expensive, and didn't he know Misaki had other things to do rather than be a perverted author's sex toy? And that Misaki would also like to be able to _walk_?

Accused of having no soul and no sense of romance, Akihiko sulks for the rest of the afternoon and then decides on a new tack. Extravagance and expense go down like lead balloons chained to paving slabs, so if he's to sweeten Misaki up, and therefore get laid before his birthday, then subtlety must be used.

* * *

Misaki is amazed to see Usagi-san out of bed by eight this morning. The man still looks like death warmed up and he's barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to eat his breakfast, but he's still up.

When Misaki returns home from his work in the evening, the author is actually working – reading a massive book on something Misaki won't even pretend to understand.

"Welcome home," calls Usagi-san, not getting up to pounce on the young man. "How was your day?"

"Um… Pretty good. I got to see some of Ijuiin-sensei's sketches." He freezes in place. Stupid! Mentioning that man in this household is a sure fire way of ending up naked and splayed on the floor.

All Usagi-san does this time is make a face – a half-grimace – and says, "Did Aikawa take you?"

"Yes," lies Misaki, throwing his friend to the wolves. At least she's safe from wandering hands and jealousy. "Ah, but she was showing me how the editors check grammar, and I have no idea how to work that at all."

Usagi-san throws him a calm look, the sort that makes his heart thrum a bit faster, and rumbles, "I could probably help with that. I'll show you on one of my old manuscripts?"

Delighted, Misaki smiles and throws caution to the wind, dropping into the seat beside his lover. "Thank you, Usagi-san."

_(Usagi-san's teaching method has not mellowed. Misaki goes to bed – his own bed, strangely enough – with a dreadful headache and a brain so full of facts he thinks his head might explode.)_

* * *

Misaki comes home today to find Usagi-san on the sofa, with a towel around his neck and his hair still drenched. He's completely absorbed in that book again, glasses pushed up his nose so he can focus easily, mouth slightly slack with concentration. His lover sets his bags down in his room and comes back downstairs immediately.

"You'll catch a cold sitting with your hair wet." Misaki whips the towel from broad shoulders and applies it vigorously to dripping locks. Usagi-san murmurs something inaudible and goes back to his book for a short while. Eventually, though, the soothing rubbing sensation on his scalp becomes too distracting, and his head falls back and his eyes shutter closed to focus on the feeling.

Misaki strokes and rubs and tugs until his hair is almost dry, still sticky damp around the nape. He runs his fingers through the dry parts with satisfaction – Usagi-san's hair is always silky soft and fine. Today it smells like his favourite shampoo; sandalwood and lavender. He permits himself a few more moments of touching before he takes up the towel again and drops it over his landlord's face.

"Take that back upstairs."

_(The bathroom smells deliciously of that shampoo. Misaki loves that smell, and it gets imbued into everything it touches. Sadly this does not include Misaki's bed, because Usagi-san once more lets him remain unmolested.)_

* * *

On the counter is a brand new Da*Kan magazine – a limited edition copy, complete with poster. Misaki throws himself on it like a hyena on its prey, giggling madly at his new possession.

"I take it you like that then?" Usagi-san appears on the balcony upstairs. Even from this distance, Misaki can tell his eyes are bloodshot and tired from staring at a computer screen all day.

"Did Aikawa-san deliver it? I was speaking to her earlier, she should have given it to me then." Misaki cuddles his prize to his chest. "I don't think this is even in the shops yet! I should thank her!" He's almost at the phone, having skipped across the living room when Usagi-san speaks again.

"I bought it."

Misaki stops dead and glares at him. "Hardly."

"I did. I had to go to Ijuiin-sensei and nearly beg for the dratted thing."

"Prove it." Misaki feels bad for being so suspicious, but Usagi-san's track record when it comes to do with anything about Da*Kan or Ijuiin-sensei is not great.

Usagi-san sighs and shrugs. "You can thank Aikawa all you want, but she won't know what you're talking about. Go ahead. You'll see."

Misaki nearly picks up the phone and then looks down again at the magazine. Up on the balcony, Usagi-san is watching with tired, almost sad eyes; the look of someone who's used to not being believed. "Did you get it signed for me?" he quavers.

"Inside front cover." The author turns away to go back to his office.

"Usagi-san!" Cursing his blush reflex – he's gone bright pink – Misaki gives the man a smile. "Thank you."

The other man doesn't say a thing.

_(He's grateful, yes, but confused. He doesn't notice his bed's empty though, because he spends all night reading his magazine.)_

* * *

"Sorry I'm late! There was an all staff meeting and I missed the train."

"I was starting to worry about you… No matter. What do you want for dinner?"

"I was going to do a stew?"

"But you've just got home. And, look, you're soaked through. Is it raining that badly?"

"….."

"What?"

"Someone splashed me… One of those great big trucks. He even beeped his horn afterwards!"

"…"

"You're laughing at me! Bastard!"

"Now, now, come here."

"Get off!"

"Calm down and go get a shower. We'll order food in, so you can relax and get warmed up."

"But I was-"

"I know. And as much I love your food, I'd rather you stay healthy. It's either takeout or I try to cook something, Misaki. Which would you prefer?"

"Takeout, please."

"Ah, you don't like my cooking? But I try so hard for you –"

"Don't pull that face, old man! I know what you're trying to do! Order the damned food!"

_(Misaki goes to bed warm, well-fed and content. Even if the bed is still lonely.)_

* * *

A silken voice, deep and thick, rumbles into his ear as he tries to pour himself a cup of tea.

"You're looking lovely today, Misaki."

Misaki doesn't think he can really be blamed for starting so violently. He still feels bad though when Usagi-san has to run his entire forearm under the cold tap to soothe the resulting scald. Strangely, the man seems to be nothing but amused by this, and scrubs Misaki's head with his dry hand.

"I shall learn not to sneak up on you if you do that more often."

Misaki decides not to have tea and grabs a beer instead. After a second's thought he gets Usagi-san one too, and then spends the evening grimacing every time he sees the shocking red marks on the man's pale skin. He comforts himself by blaming his landlord – it is really his fault – and by drinking far too much beer.

(He wakes up with a terrible hangover, in his own bed and alone. It's not that it's pissing him off, but…)

The bouquet is actually a reasonable size. Misaki can accept it from the delivery girl with only a cursory blush and stutter.

The tag is unsigned.

_(Misaki goes to bed early – he has work tomorrow, and he's sulking slightly. Usagi-san hasn't touched him for nearly a week now. The man has to be sickening for something.)_

* * *

Usagi-san turns up at the Marukawa offices today: smiling, besuited and carrying a printed copy of a manuscript. The editors in Misaki's current department all look at him like he's some sort of mythical creature – a writer that turns his work in before the deadline. Aikawa-san looks as though she might cry when he hands over the papers.

Like a pack of wild dogs, the editors descend onto the manuscript. Misaki recoils in horror and goes over to accuse Usagi-san of cheating. The man had hated that story, struggled and battled with it for weeks. He'd nearly driven himself, Misaki and Aikawa-san all insane with his inability to continue it, and now it was finished.

"I did finish it," says Usagi-san, looking wounded. He's chewing his lip almost frantically, and Misaki thinks he must be desperate for a cigarette. "Do you want a lift home? It's pouring out there."

"I don't get off until five," Misaki mutters. He doesn't want to have to trudge home in the wet, but he can't leave early.

This is why he's startled when he goes downstairs three hours later and finds Usagi-san waiting in the lobby.

"You can't have been waiting there the whole time!"

"No, I went and did some shopping, visited a friend. Do you need to pick anything up on the way home?" Usagi-san levers himself out of his chair and stretches.

Misaki gawks at him and says, "No, there's nothing."

_(Again with the different beds! Now this is beyond a joke.)_

* * *

Misaki wakes up late – he hasn't been sleeping well alone in his bed – and has to run to work. He doesn't wait to say goodbye to Usagi-san.

He comes home late as well, and finds Usagi-san smoking thoughtfully on the sofa, whisky glass sloshing gently as he tapped his foot on the table. Misaki gives him a dark look and stomps away to settle down, silently seething at the man.

How can he think that this is responsible? Getting a perfectly innocent and normal boy all riled up and then cutting him off cold turkey! It wasn't right and it wasn't fair, and Misaki was in the right mood to deal with it face to face.

At least he thinks that until he's face to face with Usagi-san. There he manages to snarl, "Who the hell do you think you are, playing me around like this?" and then those blue eyes cause his insides to knot into butterfly shapes and he can't do anything but make embarrassing spluttering noises.

"Oh dear," says Usagi-san taking one last draw of his cigarette and stubbing it out abruptly. "And there I was trying to romance you."

"Ro-romance?"

"I thought I should treat you to such a thing. You often accuse me of not understanding it. On St. Valentine's Day for instance, just last week."

"Guh?" manages Misaki. His smirking landlord pads closer, coaxing his chin up with one long finger.

"Did you not notice my efforts?"

"I-I…" At the time, no; but now… The offers of help, the presents and flowers, the general sweetness and good behaviour… It's obvious now. "I did…"

"Well, that's good." The man is very close now, so close Misaki can smell his shampoo – still lavender and sandalwood-, smell the smoke still purring out of his lungs, the sting of alcohol from the whisky. "So, how exactly did I upset you?"

"You weren't… My bed…" Misaki can't quite remember how to talk at all anymore.

"You were lonely?"

"No! I didn't want you there at all!" he blurts, clenching his fists in embarrassment. "I just…"

"Say no more," rumbles Usagi-san. He leans down slightly and gently presses a kiss to Misaki's parted lips. "Let me make it up to you?"

_(Misaki's bed remains completely unoccupied for the next month or so. It's infinitely better that way.)  
_

* * *

Threose is apparently a syrupy, synthetic sugar. And that was probably a very syrupy story. I may have given myself cavities writing it.


	6. Erythrulose

Aikawa arrives after a short absence with a bag full of treats and a flawless tan. Misaki thanks her for the sweets and then proceeds to marvel at her tan as she sorts through Usagi-san's latest manuscript, the one he actually managed to hand in on time.

"Did you go on holiday?"

"My sister and I went down to the South coast for a weekend. We both needed time off." She glared at Akihiko, who ignored her judiciously. "I spent the entire time on the beach – absolutely heavenly. You should go sometime! Relax and get a bit of colour!"

Misaki looks at his forearms and wrinkles his nose. He's fish belly pale, the blue veins throbbing just beneath his skin. A tan would be nice…

"Or burn," mutters Usagi-san darkly.

"Have you ever sunbathed in your life?" gripes Aikawa. "You're nearly see through."

"I have sunbathed. I have simply never tanned. Or freckled. The only thing that ever happens to me is burning." He huffs. "I have no wish to look like some lifeguard, more muscles and tanning oil than actual person."

"All blond and tanned," drools Aikawa, interrupting the writer. He gives her an even darker look and gets up.

Misaki is still moping when Akihiko passes behind him with a coffee mug. "What are you drooping about now?"

"Look." He offers his arm; Akihiko's soft fingers run over the sensitive underside, raising goosebumps as they go. "I'm like some sort of albino…"

Usagi-san snorts and runs his hands through Misaki's hair, ruffling him up. "I don't think there's any way you could be albino. The brown hair maybe gives it away." A strong, sinewy arm appears next to Misaki's, skin nearly ivory in its paleness. There is not a mole or freckle on him, both underside and topside as white as each other. "And look at me anyway. You can't look at me in direct sunlight, or you'd be blinded. Cheer up." The arm disappears and then Misaki gets a sharp slap on the ass.

"Hey! Pervert!"

"Get back here and help me correct these proofs!"

Akihiko rolls his eyes. "I try and do something nice…"

* * *

In combination with dihydroxyacetone, the sugar from yon chapter two, erythrulose is used in sunless tanning products. It's more expensive then dihydroxyacetone and may leave some people with an uneven tan when it begins to fade. I just stick with my pale and interesting look.

 


	7. Arabinoses

Takahiro comes and goes and leaves a few books and half a ton of sweets. Misaki spends half an hour lining the packets up on the kitchen counters, arranging them by type and colour and any other half reasonable criteria he can think of. Akihiko ignores this organisation except to frown at the lack of space for his coffee cup. He won't touch any of the treats, Misaki knows, because he really doesn't like sweet things. On the other hand, the younger man will eat all of the sugary junk he can, safe in the knowledge that all the chocolate in the penthouse is his and his alone.

He still offers Akihiko a handful of sugared jelly things to be nice, scowling when the author shakes his head and refuses.

"Why don't you like sweet things?" he asks, dropping down with a sigh in the seat beside Akihiko. The man is, for once, not reading or writing or even procrastinating, but just sort of lounging about with a mug of coffee. It is, of course, black coffee, bitter and strong, with nearly the same consistency as melted tar.

Akihiko shrugs, taking a deep sniff of his coffee, and then rumbles, "I just don't. I eat everything else, don't I?"

They both say, "Except green peppers," at the same time.

Misaki smiles and pops another jellybean in his mouth. "Did you like them when you were small?"

"What, green peppers?" Akihiko sips his coffee. Misaki corrects him, and the man considers for a moment. "No. I don't think so. Rarely got them anyway."

Misaki was well dosed with sweets for all of his childhood, even the times when he and his brother had little money for anything at all. "You didn't get sweets when you were small?" he doesn't mean to sound so shocked, but can't help it.

"My mother sometimes forgot to feed me at all. I'm not amazed she never gave me treats." He smiled into his coffee, in a rather creepy way. "I never got the taste for sweet things. I remember my first sweetie, you know; a teacher gave it to me for doing well in my spelling." He grimaces slightly. "It was some horrible chalky, insipid bonbon thing, and I remember nearly choking on it, because I had never realised you could actually make something so vile."

In one of the myriad of packets on the kitchen counter, there are a heap of chalky, insipid bonbon things: Misaki dashes off to fetch them and slips a couple into his hand before he pads back to the sofa. He pauses behind Usagi-san and reaches out to pat the man's head. His silvery hair is soft and slick between Misaki's fingers, infinitely touchable. Akihiko rolls his head back slowly, giving Misaki a lecherous grin right up until the second Misaki shoves the bonbon in his mouth. Almost immediately he cracks the sweet between his teeth, which Misaki thinks is a probably a sign of having too many things poked in his mouth when he had been a very pretty teenager and much easier to take advantage of.

Usagi-san makes a face and crunches the sweet again, and again and again, like a dog determined to get through a bone. Before Misaki can escape and cackle in the safety of the kitchen, a big hand grabs the front of his tshirt and drags him down. Akihiko kisses him hard, slipping his tongue into his mouth and transferring the chalky, claggy remains of the bonbon to an unwilling recipient. Misaki recoils with a muffled cry of horror and Akihiko sinks back down in the sofa and swills a mouthful of bitter coffee to rinse the taste away.

"If you do that again, I'll repeat the experience considerably further south," he says, with a certain degree of smugness.

Misaki decides not to chance it.

* * *

Found in gum Arabic, which is an important ingredient in soft drinks, gummy sweets, marshmallows _(mmmmmmm_ , _marshmallows….)_ and various other pleasantly sweet objects. Including edible glitter, which I've never heard of before but now I rather want, just to make my insides all sparkly.


	8. Lyxose

Misaki wakes up when he rolls into a warm dip left by someone's now absent body. Akihiko had appararently gone missing – considering it was only five in the morning, Misaki was a bit worried. Unless unknown inspiration had struck in the middle of the night, Akihiko would not be fully operational until around noon. He certainly wouldn't shoot out of bed without molesting Misaki for a while first.

The space the older man has left is warm though, and the pillow smells freshly of his shampoo, so Misaki steals it and balls the covers up around himself. He's about to snuggle down and enjoy another nap, when he hears an unpleasant noise. Someone is throwing up, coughing and spitting noisily.

It turns out to be Usagi-san, who else?, kneeling on the floor beside the toilet and looking like a very ill man. He's distinctly greyer than normal, eyes bleary as he looks up at Misaki in utter misery.

"Are you all right?" Misaki asks, feeling a bit dim as he does so.

Usagi-san opens his mouth, pauses, goes a shade greener and throws up again. Misaki creeps over and places a worried hand on the man's back, reaching around to brush his forelock off a sweaty forehead. Once the retching had stopped, Misaki fetches a glass of water from the sink and orders the man to rinse his mouth out, which fails miserably when Usagi-san is sick again.

"Can I get you anything?" he asks.

Usagi-san spits and wipes his mouth, shuddering. "No, thank you." He coughs faintly and swallows with a groan. "You can go back to bed, you know. It's probably just a stomach bug."

"Yes, but you're throwing up," says Misaki patiently; the man is ill after all. "I don't want to leave you while you're ill."

The author gives a pale smile and says, "Thank you."

* * *

Unhappily, Misaki has to stay up all night with Usagi-san, who has to spend much of the night on the bathroom floor, shivering violently all the time. Not even a hot water bottle and several blankets do anything to stop the trembling; so Misaki grudgingly tucks himself into the curve of the man's body, so as to be disturbed everytime the man sits up to be sick.

When morning comes, Misaki calls Sumi and Todo to tell them he wouldn't be in lectures that day, and then attempts to coax Akihiko out of the bathroom and doorstairs. Eventually, the man gathers enough energy to stagger downstairs and curl up on the sofa.

Misaki makes a plateful of toast and pours a jug of lukewarm water, turning the tv onto easy to ignore drivel. He can't even tempt Usagi-san with a new, shiny looking book; the man just lies there in a sort of stupor, shivering occasionally. So he sets about disinfecting every surface he can in the apartment, popping back to the sofa occasionally to check on the patient. Usagi-san doesn't move once, except to occasionally sip some water and shift into a new huddled position. By dinner time Misaki is almost moved to coo over the man, maybe even check his temperature or soothe him by petting his head. For once, he really doubts Akihiko is in any fit state to pounce on him.

It turns out fussing over Akihiko is actually quite… Well, not fun as such, but certainly satisfying. The man turns into every touch and eventually manages another weak 'thank you' as Misaki's reward, smiling that pale little smile that makes him seem very young and very innocent. It taps repeatedly against the part of Misaki's brain that desperately does want to take care of the man, to be useful and _needed_ , but is so often thwarted by Usagi-san's devil-may-care arrogance and stubbornness. Now though, he can coo over his lover to his heart's content and be happy in the knowledge that he's not going to be molested just yet.

Once Akihiko's better, of course, Misaki is screwed.

* * *

Lxyose is a component of bacteria signalling systems, found in mutant E. Coli in particular. And such things make you ill.

(I'm aware it's not very sugary, but you know...)


	9. Ribose

There's an article on the Usami family in one of the newspapers. Misaki only finds this out because he finds the scrumpled pages near the bin where they've been thrown carelessly. Usagi-san is reading the rest of the paper absently and doesn't look up when Misaki shoves the discards into the front pocket of his hoodie and scampers off.

In the relative sanctuary of his room, he flattens the paper out on his bed and peers at it. Most of it appears to be the normal stuff about the Usami corporation – the amount of money they've made in the last year, their new business deals and expansions, who is in charge of what exactly. All of the figures and facts in those paragraphs make Misaki feel very poor indeed.

And then there's an interview with Usagi-chichi, his beaming picture gracing the top of it. Misaki scans a few lines, finds them all very carefully worded and probably delivered with that horrible expression the man tends to wear when he's outthinking someone. Below is an interview with Usagi-ani, looking solemn in his photo.

Misaki is much more interested in the last article and picture. It's a woman, blonde and imperious, staring at the camera like it doesn't deserve to gaze on her. It is an intensely familiar expression, and Misaki guesses this has to be Usagi-san's mother. There's really no one else it could be, with looks like that. She's also intensely not pretty. Not ugly, of course, in fact she's absolutely gorgeous. But you couldn't describe the utter disdain on her finely boned face as pretty. Handsome was really the closest you could ever get.

The interview itself isn't easy going. The journalist is clearly trying her best, but she's getting very little in return except scorn and sarcasm. Even Usagi-san manages to be civil when presenting himself to the public. Mostly because Isaka-san and Aikawa will murder him if he isn't. But his mother clearly has no such compunctions. She even walks out before the session is done, the article is cut short. Misaki is left with a distinctly bad first impression of the woman from just reading it.

He refolds the paper around the photo of the woman and pads downstairs. Akihiko glances away from his paper for a second and then narrows his eyes darkly.

"I'm fairly sure going through people's bins is frowned upon in some cultures," he grumbles.

"It wasn't actually _in_ the bin," replies Misaki, holding the photo out in front of him. Akihiko looks at it once and scowls even more. "Is this your mother?"

"Yes. Unfortunately." He snaps his paper open again and focuses intensely on the print.

"She… um…" Is there a nice way to say someone's mother is clearly not a very pleasant person? Probably not, Misaki decides and amends his sentence to, "She doesn't seem to like talking to journalists…"

"The only people my mother likes talking to are bartenders." Usagi-san's voice is unusually terse.

"Oh." Misaki looks down at the picture again. "I'm sure she likes talking to y-"

"No. She does not."

"Oh…"

The man snaps the paper down again and folds it rather brutally, shredding a few pages as he does so. "My mother and I do not get on, mostly because she's a horrible, horrible woman, with no thought for anyone but herself." He takes the folded paper from Misaki and examines some of the still visible article with a jaundiced eye. "Yes, look here. Acting like a complete bitch to this poor woman, just because she can. At least my father has the decency to act like he's civil."

Misaki winces with the onslaught of vitriol; it's not directed at him, but even being in close proximity makes him feel uneasy. Gradually, Usagi-san's temper cools slightly and he realises what he's saying and who's listening. Smiling in a very odd way, he tears the paper up into itty bitty little pieces and throws them into the ashtray.

"Sorry," he says, leaning in to nuzzle Misaki's hair. "It's best if you don't ask."

Misaki eyes the ashtray for a minute and then says, quietly, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed…"

"Don't worry," purrs Akihiko.

"But-" Misaki starts.

"If you are so set on apologising, then you could maybe make it up to me…" leers Akihiko.

Misaki would be taken aback by the sudden change in topics if he wasn't too busy hitting the man over the head with the rest of the paper.

* * *

Ribose will be quite familiar to you all, because it's what makes us us. It is found in DNA and RNA; making up the backbone of the strands, which are the carriers of our genetic information.

The quote in the original summary was from a poem called "This Be The Verse" by Phillip Larkin, which actually starts "They fuck you up, your mum and dad". Look it up, it's entertaining if nothing else.


	10. Xylose

Usagi-san has very carefully plucked the shreds of green pepper from his rice and finished the rest of his meal cheerfully. Misaki points at the little discarded pile and says, "Eat your vegetables, Usagi-san."

"Technically, they're fruits," he says in his irritating, know-it-all voice.

"Eat them!" barks Misaki.

* * *

Short story is short.

Also, your pointless fact for the day is that xylose is found in seeds and edible plants, particularly vegetables. And that the green pepper is technically a fruit.


	11. Ribulose

Sometimes Misaki regrets ever leaving the house. This is very much one of those times, even though he's fairly sure this is also one of the times trouble would have come to his doorstep and rung the bell until he was forced to let it in.

And now he was having coffee with one of the richest men in the country, sitting in a Starbucks, of all places, and trying to resist the urge to run out of the door screaming. Across the little table, Usami Fuyuhiko is considering his cup of coffee with a slightly baffled face, while the rest of the café watch him with slightly terrified expressions. Misaki hates them all, mostly because none of them actually have to talk to the man.

"How are your studies going?" asks Usagi-chichi all of a sudden, startling Misaki.

"Um… Fine?" Something about that very reptilian gaze always makes him wonder if he's actually saying the right thing, like someone was reading past his thoughts and scanning the very depths of his subconscious. It was very hard to be sure of yourself when Usami Fuyuhiko was about, even when he was still utterly captivated by the Starbucks coffee cup. "I'm really just focusing on the economics now though. I had been doing literature for a bit, but I wasn't… brilliant."

"I would have thought Akihiko would have helped you," the man rumbles, smiling sharply.

Misaki scowls to himself; Usagi-san's idea of help normally involved some amount of molestation, but mentioning this to the man's father might not be the best of ideas. "He tried…"

"Hmm?" Usami Fuyuhiko's gaze is suddenly very soft and very paternal. Misaki's not sure what exactly the man wants from him now, what he's meant to say next, and turns to sipping his hot chocolate as a get-out clause until he's given a clue. "Akihiko always had his nose in a book, it was his favourite pastime. I should have thought he would have wanted to share that with you. What with your 'relationship' and all."

And there it is. A spike of venom amid the sweetness. If Misaki hadn't been prewarned by his natural fear of Usagi-chichi and Akihiko's deep resentment of the man, he has no doubt that the kind look would have suckered him in and then the attempt to disarm him would have struck home. As it is, he just stutters something about them having slightly differing tastes in literature and nearly jams his entire face into his cardboard cup as he takes a massive, tongue-scalding gulp.

He remains taciturn for the rest of the conversation, and, by the time Usami Fuyuhiko has emptied his coffee cup, and neatly crumpled the remains in one great paw of a hand, he's feeling quite mentally battered. He's yelled at the man before, yes, but then he'd had the rush of adrenaline to support him and Usagi-san to use as a shield should things go wrong. Without either of those crutches it's easy to get tired out very quickly. Finally, when the man stands up and slings his coat over his forearm, Misaki nearly cries with relief.

"Well, it was nice talking to you, Takahashi-kun." He's gifted with a smile, incredibly charming and unpleasantly like Usagi-san's 'talking to crowds of people' beam - amazingly, hugely fake. "I should be getting back to work now. Give my regards to Akihiko."

And with that, he's off, picking up a shadow in the form of two suited men who were loitering outside the Starbucks, watching everyone suspiciously. Misaki creeps up to the counter and orders another hot chocolate, asking for all the sweetest, sugar-filled toppings to be piled onto it in huge amounts. Usami Fuyuhiko always leaves him with such a terrible taste in his mouth.

* * *

A synthesised form of ribulose is used in many artificial sweeteners. Such things are used in tea and coffee and hot chocolates.


	12. Xylulose

For some reason Misaki wasn't paying attention to, he and Akihiko are in charge of Mahiro for the weekend. Takahiro and Manami have disappeared for two days of a sort Misaki suspects he doesn't want to hear about, despite Takahiro's best efforts to have a 'man to man' talk with him about. It's not like he doesn't know! He's twenty two, for goodness' sake!

What Takahiro should have a talk with him about is advanced child care. He knows to keep the boy fed, watered, cleaned and happy, but when Mahiro starts to complain of a sore stomach on the first evening, Misaki panics.

"I've given him warm water and maybe I should give him a tablet, but I don't know what one, or if adult ones are too big, and I don't want to poison him." A terrible thought strikes him and he glances over at the boy, who's playing lethargically with a small Suzuki. "But maybe he's gotten into something and that's why he's sick – what if he's already poisoned? Should we take him to the hospital? Oh god…."

Akihiko lowers his book an inch and peers at Misaki curiously. "He's got a sore stomach. Put him to bed and check on him in a while. If he hasn't thrown up or stopped breathing, he'll be fine."

Misaki can't stop the irritation that sweeps over him. "Oh, yes, you learned this from your father, I've no doubt? The world's _best_ father?" The sarcasm is bitter on his tongue, but he strikes on anyway. "Or your mother? A woman you hate so much you refuse to talk about?"

"The butler actually," says Akihiko mildly, closing his book and setting it down on the coffee table. "And anyway, I was maybe ill once, twice a year, and then I was dreadfully sick. I know what it feels to be unwell, Misaki, and that child-" He nods in Mahiro's direction. "Is not that unwell."

"Ah, but were you poisoned ever?" Misaki probes, eyes narrowed.

"My mother once decided to feed me some of her anti-depressants. I'm not sure why." A grimace crosses Akihiko's face. "An hour later I was having convulsions, and when I wasn't bouncing off the floor I was throwing up. And anyway, you've watched the boy like a hawk since Takahiro dropped him off. There's been no time for him to eat anything he shouldn't."

Misaki turns to a good-old whine for his next comment. "He's sick, and I don't know what to do…."

"Bed and some Calpol," says Akihiko, rolling his eyes.

"Calpol?" repeats Misaki, who's never heard of such a thing.

"Hmm?" For a second, Akihiko pauses and then says, "Sorry, it's a medicine I used to get back in England. I think it was paracetamol or something, in the sickliest, sweetest glop ever. I hated it, but the nanny swore by it. That and cod liver oil." He shudders.

"Paracetamol? Are you sure?"

Akihiko sighs and reaches for his laptop. "Just put the brat to bed, and I'll find out."

* * *

Misaki comes downstairs an hour later to find Akihiko carefully winding a plaster around his index finger. Upstairs, a grumpy Mahiro is organising a ream of stuffed bears around his pillow.

"What have you done?" he grumbles, ignoring the puppy dog eyes and examining the kitchen counter. Aside from the hastily wiped away blood, there is a packet of tablets, and a knife. Someone has clearly spent a lot of time slicing a paracetamol into quarters, and then neatly sliced their own finger open all over them. There's an untouched tablet beside a small glass of orange juice though, and Misaki nearly smiles at the sight. "Is that for..?"

"The brat? Yes." Akihiko wiggles his fingers experimentally, displaying another fresh plaster on his thumb. "I checked. A quarter to a half tablet a dose. Give him that tonight and see how he is in the morning."

On his way past, Misaki almost feels moved enough to check his lover hasn't seriously damaged his hands. But then again, his nephew's in the house, so no. Akihiko can take care of his own fingers tonight.

* * *

The next day, Mahiro wakes up, throws up once and spends the next hour crying for his mother. Misaki attempts to call his brother and sister-in-law, but they don't answer their phones, and so has to attempt to comfort the toddler on his own. He fails at this spectacularly and is on the edge of crying himself when Usagi-san unearths himself from bed and stomps downstairs.

"Give him here," he grumbles, taking Mahiro from Misaki's unresisting grip. The sudden change of hands startles the boy into silence for a moment, and then he stares at Akihiko with a hilarious mix of horror and shock. Misaki watches curiously as Akihiko feeds the boy the other half of the paracetamol he sliced the night before, washed down with some cool water. "Are you too warm or too cold?" he demands of the boy, nodding with Mahiro whispers, "Col'" in an adorable undertone.

"Should I get another blanket?" Misaki asks, standing up and trying to walk two directions in once. He's never expected Akihiko to show any paternal talent whatsoever, but, even if he's being a bit brusque, he's showing a lot right now.

"Yeah. Bring it down here though." Akihiko sits Mahiro on the sofa in front of the television and switches it on to some children's show. Misaki catches the brief expression of utter pain that flashes over his lover's face at the sound and sight of such nonsense and has to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. "Watch that and stop crying," he mutters, but Mahiro is already transfixed by the television. Akihiko rolls his eyes and stalks off to make some coffee.

* * *

When Takahiro appears on Sunday night, looking remarkably perky and far too cheerful, Mahiro is back to his bouncy self. Misaki and Akihiko, on the other hand, are half dead and far too happy to hand the boy back to his father.

On the news that his son had been ill, Takahiro peers at Mahiro's face and then chuckles. "Must have been some sort of quick bug. He gets them every so often." He pauses and adds, "He was a bit fussy on Friday morning to be honest. Probably picked it up at school."

Misaki smiles wanly and bites his tongue. "That's all right then," he muttered through clenched teeth. "We shouldn't delay you anymore. Nee-chan will be looking forward to seeing Mahiro-chan!"

Already being chivvied towards the door, Takahiro makes a few attempts to talk to Akihiko, but Misaki is politely insistent and Akihiko is barely capable of talking any more he's so tired. When the door finally shuts behind his brother, Misaki collapses against the door for a few minutes, and then manages the long crawl to the sofa beside his landlord.

"We're never having children," he groans, too tired to flail when Akihiko flops sideways and lands his head on Misaki's lap.

"Well, yes," croaks Akihiko; his voice is going after several hours of reading stories to an enraptured Mahiro, who had swiftly overcome his fear of the man and his sore stomach for the temptations of a good story. "Biology has that covered for us nicely."

Misaki lets his hand drift down to pet Akihiko's silky soft hair. "True." He pauses and then tugs a few loose strands away. "Anyway, I have you to look after."

* * *

This is a tricky one to explain – people excrete xylulose in their urine, and some excrete it too much. This is essentially the same problem as if they had diabetes, but since it's the wrong sugar, they don't actually have that disease, but one that is often mistaken for it.

Calpol is essentially liquid paracetamol with a crap load of sugar and strawberry flavouring in it. It's certainly sold in the UK, because I remember pretending to be ill so as to get a spoonful of deliciousness. Paracetamol is an excellent painkiller for use with children, but do not give them too much! Don't take too much yourself either, because it will be a horrible, long death you will suffer! Trust me!


	13. Allose

In the newest issue of The*Kan, there is a new character. Misaki is, as ever, enraptured, and immediately plunges into the book, reading it in record time. Halfway through the introduction of this character, though, he has an uneasy sense of recognition. A new chef – an arrogant young man – is challenging the hero, almost succeeding at destroying all he's worked for. Misaki's fairly sure he's meant to hate the newcomer, but can't quite bring himself to. For one, he's drawn beautifully, all long bishonen lines and sharply angled face. There's probably another reason, but Misaki's not so sure of that one.

When he and Todou get together to discuss – or, perhaps, more correctly, fanboy over – the newest chapters, he mentions this to his friend.

"Well…" Todou considers the full page spread of prettiness that is Uoya Kazuhiko (something in Misaki's brain screams at the name). "He's certainly…"

Misaki's amends the ownership of his assessment of the new chef to that of his sister-in-law, who, he lies, reads it for the men and not because of the nobleness of the material. "She doesn't understand it," he explains, nervously flicking through the pages.

"Hmm…" Todou is staring at the drawing now, eyes narrowed. "You know, he looks a bit like Usami-sensei…"

The klaxons going off in Misaki's head give one last almighty blare and then descend into shocked silence. Well, of course… How can he have been so stupid? The drawing is practically identical to some of the photos Misaki has seen of a teenaged Usagi-san, right down to the arrogant scowl on his face. And the name! Christ, it's so fucking obvious now! He takes another long, long look at the character and then changes the subject as quickly as he can.

* * *

Usagi-san's latest habit is to read The*Kan - Misaki suspects the reason being to understand his opponent's mind better - and this could potentially be problematic. Misaki returns to the penthouse, fully ready to hide his manga in the vegetable crisper to prevent his lover finding it, but is ambushed within three steps of entering.

"Oh look," says the man, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Another one." He makes to pluck it out of Misaki's grip and gets a palm braced against his chest.

"No!" Misaki bleats. "You can't read this one!"

A dark look slides over Akihiko's features, and Misaki curses the man's tendancy to jump to the worst possible conclusions at the worst possible times roundly. "Why?" he asks, suspicion clouding his voice.

"Because… it's…." He struggles for a reason and then gives up, hanging his head as he opens to the page Uoya Kazuhiko is introduced on. Not that he's bookmarked the page or anything. "Look."

Akihiko does so, brief expressions of confusion, irritation and amusement slide over his face, and then he laughs. "Goodness. I'm supposing my doppelganger is distinctly unpleasant?"

"He's a bad guy, yeah." Misaki is baffled. He'd half-expected a hissy fit, or at least a chilly declaration of how The*Kan was absolute nonsense, but this was just out of the blue. "You- you don't mind?"

"No," says Akihiko, turning away. "I'm curious as to where he found references for me as a teenager though."

"Probably just found a picture somewhere." Misaki follows his lover like a lost lamb.

"There are no pictures _anywhere_ ," says Akihiko firmly. "Except in my own photo albums."

Misaki likes those photo albums. "What about your family?"

Usagi-san shrugs. "I would be surprised if I'm honest. Maybe my father has one, but I'd be a baby or a toddler in it. I doubt he wants to remember my rebellious years." He casts a quietly suspicious look up at Misaki. "He could have got a picture from _you_ though."

Misaki recoils in horror, anger causing a heavy blush to career over his cheeks. "What? You think I'd give him something like that?"

Akihiko shrugs, smiling and reaching over to pick up his glasses. "Stranger things have happened. Anyway, it's either you or Aikawa that's the culprit, as far as I can tell."

"Well, it wasn't me!" spits Misaki, "Those pictures are _mine_!" He realises what he's just said, and claps his hands over his mouth.

"Oh?" Akihiko perks up, but doesn't move when Misaki flees. He'll catch up to him later. Firstly, he has to read this crap picture-book and decide on whether he's being portrayed accurately or not. Then he can go fill up on Misaki.

* * *

Half an hour later, and feeling just a bit slandered, Akihiko goes hunting for Misaki. He finds him in the study, sitting on the sofa and peering through an old photo album – one of the ones he's appropriated as his own personal shrine to Usagi-san. The boy's smiling to himself, occasionally pausing over a picture in particular – one photo, the one Akihiko has discovered Misaki has multiple copies of, gets a wistful sigh.

"Was I really that pretty?" he asks, amused.

Misaki starts and glares at him. "No! I was just thinking how-how…" He flails angrily for a word and then settles for a rather pathetic, "Stupid! Yes, how stupid you look!" He subsides as quickly as he revved up and then, to Akihiko's great distress, sniffles. "I didn't give any photos away, you know," he says in a tiny voice.

Akihiko sighs and pads over; Misaki doesn't fight for once when a big arm settles over his shoulders. "I know, idiot. I was just teasing you." He nuzzles a kiss to Misaki's temple. "I know it was Aikawa anyway. She's been plotting against me for the two months, since I missed that deadline…"

"You miss _all_ deadlines," says Misaki, looking up. "You were just teasing?"

"Yes."

"Jerk." But Misaki smiles and flips a page in the photo album. "There really aren't anymore photos of you at this age in the world?" He points at a picture of a school-uniformed Akihiko, staring blankly at the camera, pencils tucked behind both ears and another between his teeth.

"None." Akihiko purrs into Misaki's ear. "Pity I look so 'stupid' in them, isn't it?"

"You don't look st- No! No! Wait! I didn't – Get off me, you pervert!"

* * *

Allose is a bit of a rarity, found in a certain species of African shrub, from a species known as sugarbushes. Which I think is adorable. It's my new go-to endearment for my friends. " _What's up, sugarbushes?_ "

Sugarbushes (or Protea, to give them their less adorable Latin name) are found at the southern end of Africa, mostly below the Limpopo River.


	14. Altrose

"If you are sick again," says Misaki, clapping a hand to Usagi-san's forehead perhaps a touch roughly. "Then I'm _not_ taking care of you." The man is uncommonly warm, his forehead damp to the touch. He gives Misaki a pitifully miserable look and then coughs plaintively.

"But I'm ill…" Akihiko blinks and then rubs his eyes uncomfortably. The painful redness about the rims of his eyes makes it looks like he's been crying.

Misaki rolls his own eyes and succumbs once again to the idea he'll be taking care of the big lump. He can't resist the teary look.

* * *

Altrose is an unnatural sugar, which has been isolated from strains of a certain bacteria.


	15. Glucose

"I almost feel better," wheezes Akihiko a few days later, his voice still reduced to a sliver of its former self. "Almost like I'm human again."

"You still sound like you're an idiot," coughs Misaki, wincing at the scratching in his own throat. "Get back over here. The least you can is keep me warm." He smiles when the bigger man inches in behind him again and wraps him in a smothering hug.

There is a moment or two or silence, and then Akihiko mutters, "I have to hand in a new chapter of one of my serials today."

So much for peace. Misaki sighs and rolls over to glare at the man. "If you haven't done it, Aikawa-san will beat you to death, sore throat or not."

"I have it finished." The raspiness gives Usagi-san's voice an oddly offended squeak at times. It strikes now and Misaki laughs until he breaks down into throat scraping coughs. "Serves you right," grumbles Akihiko, reaching for a glass of water on the bedside table. "Here."

Misaki recovers sufficiently to ask. "Well, is she coming to pick it up?"

"I have to take it in myself." He glances at the clock mournfully. "I should be getting up soon."

Misaki merely cackles and curls up tighter. "Get me some cough syrup while you're gone."

* * *

Aikawa is in a painfully cheery mood when Akihiko shows up at Marukawa and shoves the manuscript at her. Just to piss her off, he's written it out by hand, being sure to use his messiest handwriting possible. Unfortunately he can't snark at her to add to his revenge – his throat still hurts too much to talk properly. Instead he scowls at her until she giggles and sends him on the way.

Finally. A stop at a pharmacy and then home, back to bed and Misaki.

* * *

He encounter Isaka-san, and his ever-present Asahina, in the lift. The fact Akihiko can't talk is of no issue to Isaka-san, who actually appears to find it rather useful – it means he can blather on and not worry about anyone interrupting his train of thought. Akihiko lolls against the side of the lift and raises his eyes to the ceiling – the fluorescent light sends spikes of pain through his skull and makes his eyes water. He rubs away the tears with his wrist and finds Isaka-sanstaring at him like he's grown another head.

"What?" he croaks.

"Are you _crying_?" The man sounds absolutely delighted – Akihiko can't help but recoil in disgust.

"I'm sick," he snaps, glaring at the floor numbers and urging them to count down faster.

Isaka-san chuckles and edges away slightly. "Pity."

" _Pity_?" croaks Akihiko. The lift is not moving down anywhere near fast enough.

"I was hoping chibi-tan had dumped you. So I could make my move," he leers. Akihiko glares darkly, until he notices that Asahina is pulling much the same expression. Isaka-san only notices Akihiko's discomfiture and leers even more. "You don't like that idea?"

"I think your boyfriend might have something to say about it," grumbles Akihiko, stabbing a thumb into a series of floor buttons. Isaka-san makes a choking noise, just as the lift groans to a halt and Akihiko nips out before the doors even fully open. He glances back, just in time to spot Asahina pinning Isaka-san to the lift wall and kissing him hard. Even though the foggy mists of his re-emerging fever, a sneaky little idea slips into Akihiko's imagination. A new BL series would be appreciated by his fans, no?

* * *

Akihiko scurries along the corridor, attempting to hide his face from the workers. He's landed himself on a manga floor, surrounded by people stained with inks and pencils and holding massive story boards. All of this arty business makes him feel slightly uncomfortable, so he heads straight for the stairways, and walks straight into Ijuuin Kyo.

"Usami-sensei!" The man sounds alarmingly pleased to see him. What is with these people today of all days, when he's feeling so ill? Are they like sharks, smelling the blood in the water? "How nice to meet you!"

"Likewise," says Akihiko, lying through his teeth.

"Oh dear, Usami-sensei. Are you feeling ill? You can barely talk!"

Akihiko ignores him coolly and pretends to be more interested in the occupants of a nearby room, where a small man is browbeating someone twice his size. "I particularly enjoyed your last instalment."

"I didn't know you read my works." Ijuuin noticeably smirks at the sound of Akihiko's voice.

Akihiko shrugs. "Misaki reads them. I pick them up occasionally." He draws the 'occasionally' out as long as he can. "They make for a nice, quick read." He smiles sharply, and absently corrects the fit of his coat. "I would love to stay and chat-" Lies. "-but Misaki is waiting for me at home…" He gives the other man a smile his father would have been proud of, and slips past. He can feel the other man's gaze on his back, but he doesn't even give the artist a second thought.

* * *

He takes the stairs to the bottom floor, darts past a ruffled, but pleased looking, Isaka-san, and makes for the door at such a pace he nearly runs into the back of another man. As he's hurriedly apologising, wincing as his throat squeaks painfully, the man turns around and then Akihiko allows himself a momentarily slip of composure and swears.

"It sounds as though your voice is breaking again," says his father cheerfully. Akihiko scowls so hard it causes his headache to return. "Oh don't pull that face. Why are you rushing about anyway?"

Usami Fuyuhiko may be an inch shorter than his son, but he's broader, and Akihiko is essentially trapped – he can't dive back in without both looking foolish and running the gauntlet of Isaka-san. In fact, the only thing worse than talking to his father right now would be having to talk to his father and Isaka-san at the same time - although that would possibly be classed as being talked _about_ by his father and Isaka-san while he moped nearby.

"I was handing in a manuscript," he says shortly, trying to inch past and wishing he'd been paying attention to what he was doing.

"Does that actually require running?"

"I have to get home," snaps Akihiko. He can see his car in the carpark beyond, and from there it's only a quick drive and a brief stop to get medicine before he's home and his lungs aren't screaming at him anymore. And his Misaki's at home, all alone and ill, and Akihiko just wants to cuddle into him and sleep until they both feel better… It is at this point he realises his father's been talking for quite some time and he hasn't paid a bit of notice. He arrives back into the conversation in time to hear "Don't you think?" and receive a patiently expectant look. He's almost tempted to bluff his way out of what was just said, but then his head throbs again and he gives up. "Father, I'm sick. Can I go home?"

Fuyuhiko looks almost taken aback by Akihiko's confession. "What?"

"I'm ill. I have laryngitis and an aching head." His voice threatens to squeak again to prove him correct. "I want to go home." He sounds like a petulant child, but he doesn't care. He's sick…

"Oh dear!" The man looks almost concerned. "Have you been to the doctor?"

"I'm fine," he insists. "If you'd let me go, I'd be even better."

He's granted a chilly look in return and then his father steps aside. "Well then, don't let me keep you waiting. Make sure you keep hydrated!"

Akihiko mutters something uncomplimentary and darts off.

* * *

Two streets from the pharmacy, Akihiko parks up and grabs his wallet. He needs cough syrup and an extra box of paracetamol for his now throbbing headache, and then he's almost home.

One street from the pharmacy, though, he hears someone call his name. Tempting as it is to keep on trudging and pretend he never heard, he stops and turns. Hiroki is storming up the pavement, followed closely by his giant.

"Hiroki," Akihiko says pleasantly, even though he would really rather not be talking to his friend. There's an unpleasant chill in the air, which is making Akihiko feel even worse – his teeth are threatening to chatter, while he's already shivering weakly. "And Kusama-san." He smiles at the taller man, feeling, as ever, quite uncomfortable around him.

"Usami-san," mutters Nowaki gloomily. He's actually pouting slightly, Akihiko notices with the alarmingly clarity of the fevered.

"What's wrong with you?" asks Hiroki, staring up at Akihiko curiously. "You look even paler than normal. If that were at all possible."

"Throat infection," says Akihiko, miserably. A gust of wind cuts through his multitude of layers and makes him shudder. "If there's nothing you actually have to say to me, Hiroki, can I beg off today? I don't feel great, and your tall, dark and handsome boyfriend is sulking."

"I am _not_ -" Nowaki clearly catches himself and then gifts Akihiko a cool smile. "Surely you should be inside, Usami-san, if you feel so unwell?"

"I would be, but I need to fetch cough syrup and paracetamol for my –" He catches Hiroki's curious gaze and amends his sentence to, " _Tenant_. He's sick too." This time he needs no wind to shudder; it simultaneously feels like he's burning and freezing at the same time. So much for almost feeling human again.

"Where's your car?" asks Hiroki, suddenly snapping into business mode. "You can't be wandering the streets like this."

Akihiko points vaguely in the direction he's come from. Hiroki takes his shoulder and tries to shove him that way down the street, but Akihiko resists. "I have to get the medicine…"

A bigger hand clamps onto his other shoulder and he glances over at Nowaki's concerned face. "Maybe you should sit down, Usami-san. You look very pale."

"I'm fine," he mutters, but this time he permits himself to be guided to a bench. "I need to get-"

"I'll do it, Hiro-san," Nowaki says. "Just make sure he doesn't faint." He gives Hiroki a gentle look and darts off, leaving Akihiko alone with the professor.

Hiroki sits down heavily beside Akihiko and gives him a piercing look. "You aren't going to collapse on me are you? I'm the wrong person for this…"

"Tell me about it," sighs Akihiko. He drops his head down onto Hiroki's shoulder and closes his eyes.

"You better not give me that bloody disease," snaps Hiroki, giving his friend a poke in the ribs. Akihiko ignores him and stays collapsed over until Nowaki returns with a pharmacy bag full of boxes and bottles. He pauses in front of the pair and then hauls Akihiko up.

"This is all you need for a throat infection, bar antibiotics. Go home and rest." He shoves the bag against Akihiko's chest, wearing a glower on his face. "Although I'm not sure you're safe to drive."

"Maybe we should walk you home," says Hiroki. Nowaki makes a squeaky noise of disappointment, and Akihiko hurriedly refuses the offer, in case he makes more of an enemy of the man. "Are you sure?"

"Positively," croaks Akihiko. "I'll drive. _Slowly_."

Nowaki gives Akihiko a perfunctory goodbye, and nearly drags Hiroki off before he can say the same thing. Curiously, Akihiko watches them go, Hiroki complaining loudly about being thrown about all the time. When Nowaki says something that makes Hiroki blush copiously and fall into embarrassed silence, Akihiko decides it's time to go home.

* * *

Akihiko makes it back home two hours after his initial departure. Misaki is still in bed, and only sits up when the man falls face-down on the bed.

"Cough syrup?" Misaki groans.

Akihiko hands him the pharmacy bag, and kicks his shoes off.

"Thank you." Misaki fishes out the bottle and reads the instructions. Eventually he looks over at Akihiko and frowns. "I thought you were feeling better?"

"I was…" He rolls over and sits up, fighting weakly to takes off his coat and suit jacket. It takes Misaki reaching out and helping him remove them for him to be able to lie down comfortably. "But I met half of Tokyo along the way. Even my father…" He groans and coughs uncomfortably. "Oh, my throat hurts…"

The cough syrup bottle is shoved into his hands. "Drink that and stop whining."

Akihiko groans again but does as he's told.

* * *

Glucose is a very important sugar indeed – it's the primary source of energy for cells. It is a basic necessity for life.

Whenever glucose is low, processes requiring mental and physical effort are impaired, but in times of stress – such as nearly being run down by a bus or having some of infection – the body releases its stores of glucose so it can do what it needs to do to survive, be that run like fuck out of the way or bolster the immune system to fight the infection. Therefore, whether you are trying to commute on foot or fighting off a cold, remember to top up your sugar levels!


	16. Mannose

"If you get ill _again_ ," says Misaki, picking up a host of stiffening cloths and dropping them onto the dirty clothes basket, "I am _definitely_ not taking care of you."

Akihiko pauses while gathering an armful of jars and bottles of various medications, and smiles darkly. "Considering you got ill as well…"

"I got ill because _you_ brought the dratted illness home," he snaps. "So far you've brought home a stomach bug and the cold and then you top it off with that horrible sore throat, which you then proceeded to give to me."

"Just call me Typhoid Mary."

Misaki glares after the man as he wanders off, and then his eyes light on the pack of cigarettes the other man had left on the bedside table. It is a new packet; still untouched from when Akihiko had come home from an awards ceremony complaining of a tickle in the back of his throat. And then, of course, Misaki had come down with it, moping about the house with a feverish and voiceless Usagi-san. This year, Akihiko has essentially become a plague rat, coming down with every illness he comes across, and Misaki is, no pun intended, sick of it.

He drops the basket on the bed and grabs the packet, tracing Akihiko to the bathroom, where he's replacing the pill bottles in the medicine cabinet very precisely, like a small child with an important task.

"I really mean this you know!" Misaki stomps in and wields the packet in front of the man's nose; one of the cigarettes slides out and Akihiko catches it neatly in his mouth. "You've been getting ill far too much lately. You never used to get sick."

"I'm getting old," Akihiko murmurs mildly. "And I've been going to a lot of public things recently."

"No, you're smoking out your own immune system! Seriously, cut back!" He growls when Akihiko plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and replaces it the right way. One of his big hands is searching for a lighter, patting his pockets absently. "Look at yourself! I bet you don't even want a cigarette, you're just doing that out of habit!"

A flicker of irritation passes across Akihiko's face and he stops searching for his lighter. "Fine. I'll cut back."

"I want you to stop." Misaki purses his lips and bites on his tongue to prevent himself flitting away in fear. He doesn't like bargaining with Usagi-san, but, damn it, he's going to have to this time. "If you stop smoking until New Year's Day, I'll…. reward you."

"Oh?" Akihiko could not sound more intrigued. "Really? With what?"

"Oh, just guess!" Misaki spits, embarrassment steaming out of his ears.

" _Really_?" There's a shark's grin on Akihiko's face now; Misaki can almost hear him calculating the number of days until he can claim his prize. "Is there any way I can increase on this reward?"

Trust the man to want more… Misaki casts around for an idea and then goes for, "You have to get a doctor's check-up now as well. And you can have a-a mini-prize. Something non-pervy though!"

"A kiss isn't pervy," says Akihiko, with a distinctly pleased purr to his voice.

"What? Yes it is!"

The bigger man takes a step forward, and Misaki suddenly forgets how to move when Akihiko leans down and whispers, "Only a very chaste kiss though. Just to show you care…" Only this man could make that sound lecherous!

"…Fine…" Misaki regains some control and snatches the cigarette out of Akihiko's mouth. "But you're going to the doctor's _first_."

* * *

Akihiko's doctor is, of course, a fancy private place, exclusively for adults. Misaki peers through several fancy fashion magazines while he waits, marvelling at the prices on the clothes inside and then marvelling that one of the women on the other side of the room is actually in some of the magazines, wearing expensive looking lingerie. It's a sign of the magic Usagi-san has worked on him that Misaki doesn't find her the least bit attractive. Or so he tells himself.

Finally, the writer emerges from a consulting room, shrugging his coat on and wincing slightly. The doctor was wittering away about pamphlets and 'quitting aids' and support groups, but falls prey to the Usami smile and stops dead in her tracks for a second. Misaki clearly hears the lingerie model behind him sigh at the sight, and smirks to himself. He stands up and crosses to Akihiko's side as the man finishes thanking the doctor.

"So?" he asks as they go to leave.

"I'm fine. Got a flu jab and everything." He touches his upper arm and winces again. "I should change doctors – go somewhere where you can get a lollipop after an injection."

"What age are you?" snaps Misaki. "And anyway, you don't like sweets."

"It's the principle of the thing."

* * *

They bicker amiably all the drive back to the penthouse, where Akihiko parks the car in his space and peers over at Misaki hopefully.

"What?" Misaki feels his heart start to flutter uncomfortably. He knows he has to fill his part of the bargain – he did promise after all – but it didn't seem a right exchange. Usagi-san was fully capable of going to the doctor's anyway, but Misaki certainly wasn't able enough to kiss the man properly.

The hopeful look stays on Akihiko's face for a moment longer, and then it drops suddenly. "Never mind then," says the man, fumbling in his pocket for his cigarette packet. He flips the top open, stares at the contents, glances over at Misaki and sighs. "Here. You might as well take this." He tosses the packet into Misaki's lap.

The exchange now seems a bit more fair. Misaki scrumples the packet up as best he can, grimacing at the stink of tobacco that wafts up, reaches out, grabs Akihiko's tie and kisses him hard.

"Thank you," he stutters when they break apart. "You did really well."

Akihiko gives him a lovely smile and leans back in. "So did you."

* * *

Some yeasts add mannose to proteins in ways mammals cannot, and so may affect the effectiveness of some vaccines. Additionally mannose is not a sugar than can be well metabolised by humans, and its name comes from the manna that the Israelites were said to have been given by God on their trek across the Sinai peninsula; manna is a real thing and is apparently derived from the sap of the Manna Ash tree.


	17. Gulose

For once, they have holidays at the same time, and Misaki finds himself being whisked off to the onsen again.

Ever since their first trip to the Atami onsen, when Usagi-san's father had turned up unexpectedly, Misaki has had an irrational fear of the public pool. Staying in their little private area is much more comfortable, and means he doesn't run the risk of meeting any more Usami family members.

He's tired and stiff and sore from working so hard to have time to do this, so being able to loll about in a steaming warm bath does wonders for his attitude. He even permits Usagi-san to sit right up beside him, knees touching comfortably beneath the water, one strong arm draped over his shoulders.

Staying in their private area also means Akihiko gets to have his way with Misaki more often, but Misaki's in such an excellent mood he's almost prepared to admit that as a benefit rather than a drawback.

* * *

Gulose is found in bacteria that thrive in acidic and hot environments, as well as some archaea and eukaryotes, which are single celled organisms and more complex creatures respectively.


	18. Idose

For a brief time, the penthouse is filled with science texts and complicated looking medical journals. Akihiko is writing something very sciency this time, a complex story line that Misaki can't even begin to follow. He just makes the most of the textbooks while they're clogging up his living room – picking through the simpler ones to find interesting little facts and occasionally doing a little research on some things he'd always wondered about.

By the time Usagi-san is reaching a fever-pitch in his writing – fingers pouring words onto his computer keyboard at a rate that Misaki can't even read – Misaki is well versed in basic physics, chemistry and biology. He's learnt all about respiration and photosynthesis – why plants are green had been his intital question there – and how petrol is made, and why certain fats are bad, and how genetics work and all about atoms and nuclei and electrons and neutrons and protons and even quarks! He impresses even himself with his new found interest in science, especially when he starts in on the anatomy books and discovers he can pick out all the parts of the human body on Akihiko's lean form.

He spies on the man while he writes, eyeing the flex of the sternocleidomastoid as Usagi-san rolls his head to loosen his neck, finally bowing his head forward to display the row of spinal processes carrying on down from beneath his blond hair, and then the roll of his shoulder muscles as he continues to stretch. The bulge of his biceps pull against his cashmere jumper, and his fingers tap up and down, tendons and bones standing out on the back of his hands as he tries to work the stiffness out of them.

Misaki picks all of these out before Usagi-san flicks his gaze around and catches sight of his younger lover staring at him.

Lavender blue eyes flutter closed – blond eyelashes covering them for a moment – as the man smiles brightly and asks what Misaki was looking at. Hurriedly, Misaki makes up an entirely believable story about just pausing outside the room on his way to do something important. The look Akihiko gives him indicates he doesn't think this is true at all, but he turns back to his work with an inspired expression on his face. Misaki creeps in and peers over his shoulder as a certain paragraph is swiftly revised and the story gallops off in another direction.

"You are an excellent muse," murmurs Usagi-san, turning his head briefly from the computer screen to press a soft kiss to Misaki's cheek. "Just what I needed." When Misaki doesn't move, he adds, "Can I help you at all?"

"Your mother's blonde, isn't she?" Misaki asks abruptly, nearly startling himself with the question.

Akihiko gives him that slightly closed-off look he develops whenever mothers are mentioned and agrees. "So was my maternal grandmother," he adds.

"Where was she from?" Misaki pries.

"She was Anglo-French, I believe," says Akihiko, removing his glasses and turning away from the computer completely. "Why?"

"Did she have blue eyes as well?"

"Both my mother and my maternal grandmother had blue eyes." He frowns slightly. "Why, Misaki?"

"I was just wondering. Because you technically have _purple_ eyes." A thought strikes him. "Is it related to you wearing glasses?"

Akihiko blinks and looks down at the pair in his hand. "No. I'm just short-sighted. But I don't know why I have purple eyes." He rolls the chair a bit closer to Misaki and purrs something lecherous about the boy paying much more attention to him recently. Misaki sharply replies it's only because the man makes such a good anatomy model and stalks off to look in his textbooks.

* * *

The answer is buried in an unsure looking paragraph at the bottom on a page on eye colours. Misaki is now sure that he has his eye colour because the layer of melanin is his eyes is lighter than normal, creating a yellow colour to mix with the blue collagen behind it – therefore green. Blue seems to be the result of not much melanin at all, leaving just the collagen to create a blue colour.

Purple – or violet, as the book refers to it – seems to be due to an almost complete lack of melanin, and the blood vessels in the eye adding a red tinge to the blue collagen. It explains that the violet tint might become stronger when the person's blood pressure is increased through stress or excitement, and Misaki blushes as he thinks of all the moments he's looked into Akihiko's eyes and marvelled at just how unnaturally purple the man's eyes are.

Curiousity sated, he reads up a bit on short-sightedness, and then looks up to find Usagi-san padding down the stairs.

"Did you discover why I'm so abnormally hued?" purrs the man, leaning on the back of the sofa and nuzzling Misaki's hair. He gets a swat for his troubles and goes off to pour a cup of coffee, chuckling quietly to himself.

"It's because you're so pale," Misaki explains vaguely. It's hard to catch a glimpse of the man's eyes behind his glasses, light glinting off the lenses at the most inopportune moments. "Listen, would you take those off for a second and come over here?"

Usagi-san flicks the glasses onto the kitchen counter and grins massively. The thin rims of iris around his pupils have darkened noticeably to amethyst. "Oh Misaki… Have I been ignoring you for too long?"

"What? I didn't- " Misaki curses his verbal clumsiness and tries to hide under the sofa cushions. He fails, happily.

* * *

Idose is not found in nature. And frankly neither are a lot of our precious yaoi boys' colourings. If Usagi-san is actually Japanese, the chances of his being blonde are almost certainly slim to nil. That's why I like to think of him as having some European family somewhere. He was brought up in England after all; there has to be a reason why his mother lived there of all places!

And even in the world wide population – including the paler European races – purple eyes aren't that common, but they exist! For the reason Misaki explained above. Essentially I'm saying Akihiko is probably only a couple of genes off being albino.

Also sorry for the science. Biology is my pet subject, especially genetics.

 **Quick, and dodgy, bio lesson** :

Melanin – the pigment that gives people their colouring. There are actually different shades of melanin but, put simply, the darker you are, the more you have of it. It's what gives your hair and the irises in your eyes their colour - unless you're albino, of course. As to why you have melanin – it protects the skin from damage caused by the UV rays of the sun. Freckley, pale people, like me, have melanin spread out unevenly across their skin, which does little good in the sun protection department.

Collagen – connective fibres in the body. In the iris – the coloured bit of the eye – the layer of this is often hidden by the melanin.


	19. Galactose

There's a blood donation truck parked down the street. Misaki and Takahiro stare at it longingly from the Akihiko's balcony, watching the people hop in and out. Eventually, Usagi-san appears downstairs and notices them moping about outside, he pads over and joins them.

"Why are you two so mopey today?" he asks, sipping his coffee absently and scanning the streets below vaguely.

"Oh, it's just the blood donation people…" sighs Takahiro. "They always make me feel a bit sad, to be honest. What with our…" He glances over at Misaki and sighs again, deeper this time. Akihiko gives him a pat on the shoulder and inveigles his way around to stand beside Misaki instead. "I used to give blood all the time, but I can't these days. They discovered I'm allergic to some medicine, and somehow that bars me from doing it." His gaze lights up slightly and he looks over at Misaki and Akihiko – somehow not noticing that his best friend has suddenly ceased petting Misaki's hair. "You two could go down and give blood though! What about it?"

Akihiko and Misaki exchange a hurried look and quickly go to find excuses. The obvious reason they can't is they've been fucking each other fairly consistently for the past four years, not that the time frame matters. The fact they've slept together at all excludes them completely.

"I can't," says Misaki, lying as smoothly as he can. It's not well done, but, then again, this is his brother he's talking to. The man won't notice. "I'm still on antibiotics."

In a voice like darkened honey, Akihiko reminds his friend that, "I lived in England for ten years, Takahiro. They wouldn't take my blood even if I paid them to take it – mad cow disease and all."

"Really?" asks Takahiro, sounding amazed. "But you haven't been there in twenty years. Surely you'd have come down with it by now if you had it?"

"Possibly," says Akihiko blithely, "I never really bothered to find out. But I'm not going to fight them on this, since I'm excluded for… other reasons as well."

Misaki almost stops breathing when his brother asks what other reasons these are. Surely the man isn't going to confess to their relationship now?

"I've been _given_ a blood transfusion. And, ignoring that, I'm on prescription drugs as well." Akihiko yawns and sups at his coffee again. He gives Misaki a cheeky little wink that makes the student inclined to make the man need another transfusion, and stretches lazily. "All I can really be is a drain on their resources."

* * *

Takahiro leaves an hour later, and five minutes after that Misaki hits Akihiko over the head with a tea towel.

"I thought you were going to tell him!" he barks, "Don't be such a jerk!"

Akihiko flattens his hair with his hand as he laughs, "But teasing you is just so delightful!" He reaches up and snags Misaki by the waist, and it all ends in a tussling match on the floor beside the sofa, Misaki lying comfortably with his head propped on Akihiko's broad chest. Whenever the man speaks, his voice resonates soothingly against Misaki's ear.

"When did you need that blood transfusion?" asks Misaki, who can't let an opportunity to learn more about his Usagi-san slip past without a weak fight.

"I was eight, and I slipped on some icy steps one Christmas time. Broke my leg fairly spectacularly. He grimaced with the memory. "I damaged a vessel somewhere in my thigh, and my mother took so long to get me to the hospital I nearly bled out into my own leg."

Misaki makes a worried bleating noise, and Akihiko shushes him quickly.

"The butler saved me in the end," he says cheerfully. "And I was fine within four months."

"Do you know what blood type you are?" Misaki sits up, and thinks for a second. "Wait here a second!" He darts off, leaving Akihiko pouting quietly on the floor. When the student returns with a thin pamphlet type book, Akihiko is still lying there. Misaki frowns at him and then sits of the sofa, propping his feet on Akihiko's chest. This gets him tickled and then they both end up wriggling on the cushions for a moment, until Misaki slaps Akihiko in the face with the pamphlet.

"Fine," sighs Akihiko, dropping his head into Misaki's lap and opening the booklet. It's nonsense about blood types and personality, but he forces himself not to be too scathing. "What am I meant to do with this?"

"According to this-" Misaki points at the list of blood types and their corresponding personalities, "You should be a type AB."

Akihiko reads the description and can't stop himself from snorting in amusement. Charming; he gets the 'villain' blood type. And, pleasingly, it's entirely wrong. "Not quite," he says.

Misaki chooses type B next, and gets it wrong again. "Really? What are you then?"

"O negative," he answers, examining the descriptions carefully. "Apparently I should be agreeable, and sociable."

"Yeah, that'll be the day… Takahiro gave it to me," Misaki explains, taking the booklet back, "He said it really fitted him well. Any one you think suits me, Usagi-san?"

"Type A." Misaki doesn't really fit any of the personalities to be honest, but Akihiko is acutely aware that he doesn't fit them very well either. "Well?"

"That's Takahiro's type. I'm type B." He pauses and says, "I don't know whether I'm positive or negative or what though... It was when our parents… And they had to take blood to see if they could help… But…" He starts to sniffle quietly and Akihiko sits up to draw him into a strong hug. "I wasn't any help, you know. Takahiro could have given to our mother, but it was too…" He starts to cry properly, burying his face into Akihiko's shirt.

For a second, as ever unsure about this whole crying business, Akihiko freezes. But the urge to cuddle his Misaki and make him feel good again wins through quickly. He crumples the pamphlet one handed and sets about comforting his lover as best he can.

* * *

Galactose is a component of the markers in the blood that determin what blood type you are via the ABO system. Biology strikes again, folks!

I was going to have them give blood initially before one kind of important problem. If you're a man, and you've had sex with another man, then you can't give blood. It was meant to stop the spread of HIV/AIDS, but it's considered a bit… discriminatory by some folk these days. Look it up, it's an interesting debate!

The whole blood type personality thing, incidentally – load of bollocks. As far as I can tell it was thought up as a way of explaining why some country was so defensive about being invaded, and that's rarely a good start for proper science.


	20. Talose

hey have a lazy night in, with takeaway and beer and silly television shows, except that some of the silly television shows segue into serious documentary type shows. Misaki goes to the bathroom and comes back to find Usagi-san watching such a thing with an expression that can only be described as morose. It's about mixed- nationality families in Japan, and is fairly lowbudget and quite remarkably dodgy in its proofs. Misaki watches it for a few minutes before feeling intensely depressed over what passed as facts nowadays and insists they turn over to silliness again.

Usagi-san remains slightly despondent nevertheless. His temper sours even further when an ad for the Usami Corporation appears during the break and Misaki hurries to find anything to stop the man descending into an almighty funk. Something that _doesn't_ involve him sacrificing his dignity. _Again_.

He stares at the television, meets the incredibly creepy gaze of Usagi-chichi and shudders. "I'm glad you don't look that much like your father," he says, not really paying attention.

"… Thank you?" Akihiko gives him a confused look and then says, "It's always good to know you don't find my father attractive."

"That is not what I meant!" shrieks Misaki, and then hurriedly shrieks even louder, "No – that's not it – I-I mean…!" He buries his face in his palms and moans, because it's either that or scream his embarrassment out.

"I know, I know," says Akihiko, his voice slightly more cheerful, but also receding slightly. Misaki looks up and finds the man no longer on the sofa, but in the process of fetching a brace of fresh beers. "I look more like my mother anyway."

Misaki knows better by now than to go anywhere near the 'mother' topic. It traditionally results in cursing. When Akihiko flops back down onto the sofa, he says instead, "Ha, that documentary earlier was surely a lot of nonsense. Someone should write a complaint letter, and tell the network it was beyond shoddy!" He laughs, a sound which tails off nervously when Usagi-san doesn't join in.

"It's not a good sign when something as ridiculously overblown as that matches your own family life to a tee, is it?" He eyes his beer bottle gloomily for a second and then gulps almost half of the contents down. "Sometimes I used to wish my parents would divorce, so I wouldn't have to listen to them fight anymore. I thought it might make my mother _nicer_ to me." The rest of the bottle is finished off at a similar speed to the first and he plucks another one from the small herd on the coffee table.

To prevent the man from drinking all the beer by himself, Misaki sets his own, half-finished, bottle to the side and chooses a full one to sip instead. He also decides to change the topic before Usagi-san descends into a full blown alcoholic mood. "I always wondered what it was like growing up in another country. Was England a nice place, Usagi-san?"

"It was all right, I suppose." He takes a more moderate mouthful of beer and then seems to warm to his topic slightly. "Weather was fairly dreadful, the food wasn't much better. Especially at school." His face drops.

"What?" says Misaki, dread building in his chest again.

"School. I went to the most affluent primary school in the area, and I was the only Asian child there. In fact, I was the only child there who wasn't completely Caucasian. I was bullied mercilessly. I thought coming to Japan would help that situation, but I was teased even worse." He tugged a handful of his hair and sighed. "I just don't fit right," he continued absently. "I was too Japanese for England, but I'm too European for Japan."

"Did you try not looking so foreign?" asks Misaki, phrasing what he means terribly. "I mean, you're so blond! That's all…" He's taken this all into a much deeper place than he was really intending, and he's desperately trying to scramble back out.

"I dyed my hair black once, when I was 14. I looked so alarmingly like my grandfather, my father make me bleach it back immediately." He laughs hollowly. He reaches up and tweaks his forelock. "Do _really_ I look like I'm European?"

"You certainly don't look Japanese," opines Misaki cautiously.

"I know," sighs Akihiko. His beer bottle is nearly empty, and, despite the takeaway, he's showing symptoms of being just a little bit tipsy. Occasionally he'll forget a word and be stuck in the middle of the sentence, frowning deeply until the missing phrase returns. Usami Akihiko is not a man to abandon any sentence. Misaki knows this is one phase off the most hilarious of Akihiko's drunken stages, where the man tends to forget which language he's meant to be speaking at the same time he forgets the word and so the sentence starts up again in another tongue. This means Misaki can only understand maybe a third of what the man says – Usagi-san speaks four languages, three of them fluent – but it's entertaining. And, since one of those languages is French, kind of attractive.

All right, fine, screw his dignity. He's already abused it enough, that another bruising can't hurt too badly. He slams his beer down, snatches Akihiko's bottle away and snuggles up as close as he can. He's blushing so hard it almost hurts, but he rakes his fingers through the man's hair anyway and says, "Well, I think I like you not being Japanese!"

Akihiko makes a sort of unintelligible noise; Misaki thanks god that the alcohol has messed up the man's senses enough to delay the otherwise inevitable pouncing.

"Means I don't have to worry about leading someone's traditional Japanese son astray. However accidentally it might be!" he exclaims loudly at the end, tweaking out a few strands of silvery blond hair. Akihiko can still only blink at him, blue eyes wide and confused. At this point Misaki admits to himself that he's also fairly drunk as well, and very much up to leading a certain blond author very much astray. "Unlike you, you great pervert."

In his raw, silken voice, Akihiko rumbles, "Je t'aime, Misaki. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Mais… Est-ce que tu m'aimes? Il ne sera pas question, mais je voudrais…" He pauses, winces slightly and then says, "… to know. I would like to know."

Misaki has no idea what he's just been asked, but it had certainly sounded nice. "Yes?" he hazarded.

"I knew it," purred Akihiko, leaning his weight against Misaki's smaller form and pushing him down onto the sofa. All misery is forgotten as of now.

* * *

Talose is extracted from galactose, the previous sugar, and is possibly named for the giant Talose, who was made of bronze and guarded the island of Crete from pirates and invaders by walking around the place. He did this because the noblewoman Europa was on the island, and Zeus rather fancied her. No expense spared – he had abducted her while shaped as a white bull (creepy, yes/yes?) and made her Queen of Crete, as well as giving her a hunting dog which always got its prey and a javelin that never missed. Zeus was into things like that.

See, I don't just do science! I do history and mythology too!

And French, with the aid of the internet and friends with more experience in the subject.


	21. Psicose

"Get up, get up, get up get up getupgetupgetup _getupgetupgetup_ , you lazy bastard!" Misaki watches in terrified amusement as Aikawa attempts to smother Usagi-san with his own pillow. This seems counterintuitive when she actually wants him up and typing, and not sleeping like the dead, but it apparently works. Usagi-san bats her away and sits up with a miserable groan. He's not wearing a shirt and even Aikawa pauses for a moment to consider his lean, strong physique.

"What is it?" grumbles the man, scrubbing at his hair sleepily. His muscles flex as he moves and Misaki tries not to lick his lips too obviously, hating himself for his attraction.

"You are a lazy sod and you owe me a manuscript! Give me it now!"

"I don't have it," he rumbles, flopping sideways into his bed again.

Aikawa leaps onto him, flailing angrily with her fists. Misaki winces at the dull thumps as she punches Akihiko hard in the shoulder and ribs, but all he does is roll to the side slightly and tip her off with practiced ease.

"Must you assault me so violently? I get flashbacks of you attacking me some mornings," he mutters, eyes alighting on Misaki for a moment. There's a glimmer of mischief behind the traditional morning grumpiness, and the student realises that Usagi-san is having fun tormenting poor Aikawa-san.

The woman shrieks unintelligibly and almost lunges again, when Misaki decides to intervene and save Akihiko from a gruesome but well-deserved death. "I'll get him up," he promises the editor, gently steering her out of the bedroom with two hands on her shoulders. "You have some tea and relax for a moment, all right?"

When he closes the door behind her, Akihiko asks, "You'll 'get me up', will you?"

"Don't be a pervert," Misaki warns him sharply, reaching under the foot of the sheets and grabbing one rather chilly foot. Akihiko jolts in shock and then nearly yelps when Misaki forcibly drags him out of his bed and deposits him on the floor where Aikawa had been shrieking minutes earlier. "Get up, get dressed, and I'll consider making you eggs for breakfast if you promise to finish the manuscript in the next week." He turns to go and tips backwards immediately.

Akihiko has hooked his foot around Misaki's ankle and tripped him neatly, catching him like he weighs little more than a feather. "But I need your help to get up, Misaki," he purrs lecherously, "So you can't go yet…"

* * *

Psicose is an ultra-low energy sugar, and can be isolated from a certain antibiotic. You should be grateful I didn't go for another sickness drabble here, but I think I've done enough of those to last anyone a lifetime!

The summary quote, by the way, is in full, "That destructive siren, sloth, is ever to be avoided," and is by the Ancient Roman poet Horace.


	22. Fructose

Their latest lovemaking session leaves Misaki with a skeleton full of shivers and a longing for more. Beside him Akihiko seems sated, flopped on his back and completely naked. Misaki considers him absently,toying with the sheets he's swathed himself in, and then realises what he's doing. He's actually staring at another man's naked, _very_ naked and very lithe and muscular and pale and smooth and lovely and… wait, what?

"This is all your fault!" he barks, picking up his pillow and beating Usagi-san across the chest with it. Akihiko groans at this sudden abuse and rolls over so one of his long arms traps Misaki and pins him to the mattress. "Hey!"

"Not a time for being beaten," yawns Akihiko, nuzzling into Misaki's sweaty shoulder. The action scrunches his cheek up and makes him look absolutely ridiculous in a very adorable way. Misaki gapes at him for a second and then falls into embarrassed silence. For a moment it looks like Akihiko has fallen into sleep and forgotten his lover's outburst, but then he flickers open one eye and fixes Misaki with a curious look. "What is my fault?"

"Oh! Ah, erm…." Misaki stalls for a second and then allows himself to just blurt out the truth. "This is your fault I'm like this!"

"What, all sweaty and fu-" Akihiko gets Misaki's palm smooshed into his face to shut him up. In revenge, he licks a long path up from the heel of the younger man's hand, right up to the tip of his middle finger. Misaki balances between shivering in pleasure and trying to shake his hand completely off his arm with disgust. As he flails, Akihiko drops off his shoulder and buries his face partially in the pillows instead. He's still very naked, and Misaki can't help but stare at the man's back, and his long legs and… This time Misaki catches himself; which is probably a good thing and shows he's getting more self-control, he thinks, because Akihiko's ass is very much on display, and it's a fucking work of art.

Wait, no, he's doing it again!

"You have made me perverted!" he says simply, crossing his arms and sulking. He used to be so good! Permanently horrified by Usagi-san's groping ways, and only slightly needy. But now, right at this very second, he's had one good long look at the man's naked body and he wants it so badly it's starting to hurt!

Akihiko's laugh is muffled slightly by the pillows, so he raises his head and grants Misaki a mouth-wateringly wry look. "How can it be my fault if you find me sexy?" he says.

"I never said anything like that!" Misaki bleats.

"You have been staring at me like I'm a particularly prized bit of meat and you are very, very hungry for some time now," purrs Akihiko, creeping a bit closer. Misaki can feel the warmth of his body even through the blankets that separate them.

"Hardly for any amount of time!"

"Fifteen minutes, Misaki." Akihiko sounds smug. "I had an eye on the clock."

"Well, it's not a normal thing to be doing!" Misaki blusters hopelessly. "Lying there, naked and uncovered! I thought I should keep an eye on _you_!"

"You make it sound as though I was going to bite you, or something," chuckles Akihiko, making his move and straddling Misaki, pinning his wrists down above his head. There's still an array of sheets between them, but Misaki finds his hips grinding up into what friction he can get anyway, even if it isn't skin.

"I wouldn't put it past you!" he snaps, wriggling against the hold and then gasping as Akihiko lowers his head and gently bites his collarbone, teeth sharp and cool. " _Don't do that_!"

"But you taste so sweet…" The sheets are whisked away, as if by magic. "Where else could I sample I wonder?"

* * *

Fructose is found in most fruit and many vegetables, as well as in honey, molasses and maple syrup. It's also used as a sweetener for breads, soft drinks, cereals, soups, yogurts and condiments in the USA.

As an addition little bit of info, fructose has the same chemical formula as glucose, but they differ structurally - this means they are isomers.


	23. Sorbose

Misaki is small and warm and soft against Akihiko's side, and the older man is endlessly content. He's not even craving a cigarette, something which has been relentlessly plaguing him since he promised Misaki he would quit. He's comfortable and cozy and amazingly satisfied.

He's almost fallen asleep when Misaki starts to squirm against his flank and then flops onto his chest.

"You're such a pervert," says Misaki firmly.

"Normally you give me at least fifteen minutes before you start accusing me of perverseness." Akihiko sighs and gives Misaki a light squeeze. "What have I done to upset your sensibilities now?"

"You bit me!" Misaki barked.

"Only lightly," said Akihiko, he leans down and nibbles Misaki's earlobe.

"Still!" The student wriggles around so his back is pressed firmly to Akihiko's side instead. "You keep doing weird things to me."

"You don't complain _while_ I do them to you." Akihiko still presses a kiss to the top of his lover's head as an apology. He remembers being in Misaki's position a long time ago, and he had not liked it much then. Of course, he had been younger at the time, and his teacher had not been kind. Nevertheless…

"You stole my innocence," declares Misaki, giving a pouty little huff afterwards. Akihiko chuckles and agrees, because it's definitely true. "You shouldn't be proud of yourself for that!"

Akihiko shrugs and rolls over to spoon around Misaki's smaller form. "If I were you I would consider yourself lucky."

"What? Why the hell would I do that?" Misaki rises like an angry god from the depths of the sheets, and smacks Akihiko hard on the shoulder.

"You were eighteen when I got a hold of you," says Akihiko calmly. "On the other hand, I was thirteen when my tutor decided he wanted to partake in some extra-curricular activites." He shrugs.

"There is no way you were thirteen," says Misaki, "Absolutely no way. That's just one of those silly things you say to make yourself seem _mysterious_ and _worldly_ and _special_." He pauses, obviously unsure. "Right?"

Akihiko gives him a look and decides not to respond.

"Oh. Really?"

He nods, snuggling deeper against the pillows.

"Wasn't that..?" Misaki fights for words.

"Weird?" suggest Akihiko, "Scary? Quite painful, as it turned out. Yes. But I suspect the way we were brought up to think about sex was significantly different."

Misaki says, sniffily, "I was brought up not to think about sex at all."

Akihiko chuckles. "Exactly. My family used sex as a barginning chip. Whenever one of my parents upset the other, or wanted something the other wasn't so fond of, they'd trick the other into bed and everything would be forgotten."

"That's horrible!" A thought strikes the student. "Wait a second…"

"I don't trick you into bed. I seduce you."

Misaki gives him a look of his own, which indicates he's not sure there's a distinction.

"And anyway, you remember everything!" Akihiko's voice contains a touch of exasperation, and Misaki gives him another swat before he lies back down and allows himself to be cuddled mercilessly.

* * *

Sorbose is used as a starting point for the commercial production of Vitamin C, and is just as sweet as sucrose.


	24. Tagatose

The man is too smug for Misaki's liking, so he pulls a nasty little trick and implies that Akihiko looks very much like his father when he grins like that.

The smile is replaced almost immediately with a truly impressive scowl. The only frown Misaki can recall seeing that was more impressive was the Demon Professor Kamijou's, but that man had a lot of practise. This is clearly an off the cuff affair, which obviously does little for the man's headache. He returns to his normal blank expression moments later, rubbing his forehead as he does so.

"Underhanded tactics," grumbles Akihiko, "Now I can never smile again."

"Sure." Misaki pads past and reaches out to stroke the man's hair. It's still damp from where he hasn't dried it properly, and Misaki coaxes a few strands up into silly shapes to amuse himself. And, sure enough, when he moves away and gets a chance to look at the older man's face, Akihiko is smiling. It's a bit of a stupid smile, a bit dreamy and lovestruck, but he likes this one a whole lot more.

* * *

Tagatose is approved as tooth friendly, is almost as sweet as and has less than half the calories of sucrose and has little effect on blood sugar and insulin levels. Let's see those smiles!


	25. Sucrose

_6.00am_. Misaki wakes up with Akihiko's intensely cold toes pressed to his shins. No amount of wriggling away or shoving the man back to the other side of the bed gets rid of him, so eventually he gets up, fetches a pair of his own fluffy socks with bear patterns on them and proceeds to put them on his bed-mate's feet. Akihiko makes a slightly bemused noise in his sleep, but doesn't wake. Misaki crawls back into bed and rolls his eyes when the man gravitates back to him and snuggles them together once more.

* * *

 _7.00am_. The alarm jars him awake, and Misaki tries to flail at it to shut it off. He doesn't have to be up at all today, and Usagi-san won't be pleased if he's woken by an unneeded alarm. His clock is on the very edge of the bedside table, but he can't quite reach it due to the sheer grip that Akihiko has on him. Finally, he snags the very edge of it and drags it closer, flicking the snooze button for immediate silence and then turning the alarm off completely. He relaxes back and glances over to check Akihiko isn't going to murder him. As it turns out, the man is still deeply asleep, blonde eyelashes draped over his high cheekbones and mouth twitching at the corners as he dreamt. Misaki decides to take a chance, and brushes a gentle kiss to soft, slack lips. They might as well be good dreams.

* * *

 _8.00am_. Misaki has a disturbing dream where Suzuki-san is a real bear, except that he has kidnapped Misaki and intends to make him his 'forest bride'. Then Akihiko arrives, resplendent on a red horse which appears to have been decorated with purple curtains, and saves Misaki from a life time of bear cubs and cleaning bits of forest creatures off wooden plates.

* * *

 _9.00am_. Akihiko wakes up twenty minutes after the hour and shambles to the bathroom. When he returns, Misaki has stolen all the covers and has created a nest of sheets for himself. The older man smiles at his lover and then inserts himself into the nest as well. He's too tall to fit quite right, but his feet are quite warm enough already – someone has put fluffy bedsocks on his feet while he was sleeping.

* * *

 _10.00am_. Misaki cooks an impressive breakfast, glaring over the counters at a smug looking Akihiko as he does so. When they sit down at the table, Misaki can't help but grimace at the pain which runs up his spine.

"Something wrong?" purrs Akihiko, wiggling his still fluffy sock-covered toes against Misaki's calf.

"No," says Misaki, trying to pout and failing – the socks are incredibly tickly. "Stop that and eat."

"As you wish." Akihiko nibbles a slice of toast, and smiles innocently.

* * *

 _11.00am_. The coffee machine is burbling cheerfully, and Akihiko is practically drinking in the scent, leaning over the carafe and nearly purring. Misaki pauses in doing the dishes to watch the man. He's not sore enough to ignore such a delicious expression on his lover's face.

* * *

 _12.00pm_. Misaki pauses in cleaning the flat to search out Akihiko. He finds the man stretched out on the sofa, fast asleep once more. Impishly, he fills a glass with water and ice and flicks a small amount onto Akihiko's face. The man yelps and starts upright, but Misaki tips the rest of the glass onto his head and runs, cackling as he does so.

"You'll pay for that, brat!"

* * *

 _1.00pm_. Misaki pays for his mischievousness twice over. There are many more ice cubes involved.

* * *

 _2.00pm_. Lunch is late, and only Misaki partakes, because he's punishing Akihiko for the wastage of ice cubes. The man mopes about mournfully until the student finally breaks and ends up feeding Akihiko half his soup.

"You are such a pest," says Misaki, refilling the spoon and holding it out. Akihiko slurps the soup up and gets the bowl of the spoon rapped against his nose for his troubles. "Don't slurp! What are you, five?"

* * *

 _3.00pm_. The flat is clean to the point where it's painful to look at the floor in direct light, and both of them are thoroughly bored.

Misaki goes to the store, with Akihiko following like a duckling, asking him stupid questions all the while. He answers them with dwindling patience, and then threatens the man to death by grapefruit. Akihiko takes the hint with a deep chuckle and wanders outside to loiter in an attractive manner. Whenever Misaki leaves with an armful of groceries, he can pick out the other people who have stopped to stare at the author: a horde of teenaged girls in school uniform, a pair of middle aged women, one with a baby and the other a toddler, and a couple of amazed looking young men. Akihiko drops them a cheeky wink and ambles over to take the bags.

"Home?"

"Don't you want to finish flirting first?"

"I have to keep my talent fresh, else you grow tired of me."

Misaki knows better than to answer that by now.

* * *

 _4.00pm_. A plot bunny has inched its sneaky way into Akihiko's mind, and the man confines himself to his study to type furiously. Misaki sits down to enjoy some television for an hour or so.

* * *

 _5.00pm_. Akihiko is still typing. Misaki fetches him a cup of coffee and finds his glasses for him, hidden under a pile of notes. This gets him a gentle smile and a peck on the cheek.

* * *

 _6.00pm_. More TV, and some haphazard meal planning. Misaki sits upside down on the sofa, with his feet dangling over the back, so the blood runs into his brain and he feels more like doing something. All it actually does is give him a headache.

* * *

 _7.00pm_. The smell of cooking lures Akihiko from his lair, looking bleary but accomplished.

"Five thousand words," he says happily, easing himself down onto the sofa and sighing. "And a plot."

"Always a good sign," says Misaki, dipping a spoon into the rice to see if it's ready yet.

* * *

 _8.00pm_. Akihiko coaxes Misaki into letting him help with cleaning the dishes. Surprisingly no plates are broken this time, although one of the glasses very nearly meets an unpleasant end when Usagi-san drops it on his foot. He's still wearing the fluffy socks, though, so it just bounces off and rolls into the corner of the kitchen units instead.

* * *

9.00pm. Not even a beer can tempt the author from his laptop. Misaki sulks in the living room for half an hour and then heads upstairs to see a master in action.

* * *

 _10.00pm_. By now Akihiko's hands are starting to shake whenever he lifts them from the keyboard. When Misaki hears the crunching, popping noise of the man's joints as he attempts to stretch them out, he gets up from his seat and grabs the nearest hand to examine it. The fingers are tensed up into claws, tendons standing out like wires under his pale skin, and one of his nails is frayed from where he's trapped it between two keys and bent it.

"Only you could hurt yourself typing."

"I haven't hurt myself," says Usagi-san, sounding almost offended. "This is just stiffness. Nothing serious."

Misaki makes the man relax his fingers as much as possible and gently massages the knuckles, noting with some satisfaction the look of relief on the man's face. "One of these days you'll wear your joints into nothing, old man."

Akihiko can't bring himself to dispute this as Misaki moves onto the other set of knuckles. This hand is much stiffer, and clearly much more painful; it's so bad that Misaki gives up and threatens to bind the fingers together with a sock to prevent further overuse.

"Can you write one-handed?" he asks, running his thumb around the man's palm.

"I can do a lot of things one-handed," says Akihiko, with a leer.

* * *

 _11.00pm_. As it turns out he _can_ do a lot of things one-handed. Misaki would be impressed, if he didn't have other things to focus on…

* * *

 _12.00am_. "I have work tomorrow," says Misaki, resting his head on Akihiko's chest and trying to pretend it's not comfortable at all. "If I have a shower now, do you promise not to touch me tomorrow morning?"

Akihiko grumbles something Misaki chooses to hear as a yes, and then adds the caveat, "Only if I get to have the shower with you."

"How about no?" Misaki tries to get up but the man drags him back down. "Hey!"

"Well then I can't promise I won't be needing a refill of Misaki in the morning then…" His eyes glint mischievously, and Misaki considers throttling him. "Your choice."

"Fine. You can wash my back then." He slaps his hand over the man's mouth before he can add any other body parts of Misaki's he would also like to 'wash'. "Get in the shower before you become any more predictable, idiot."

* * *

 _1.00am_. Akihiko goes to bed with his hair wet, strange creature that he is. Misaki dries his off as quickly as possible, sets his alarm and climbs onto his side of the mattress. Immediately, Usagi-san grabs him into a strong hug. Misaki tolerates this, almost enjoys it in fact, right until he realises that the man is transferring all the water from his wet hair onto Misaki's pillow.

"Bastard! Get off me!" He steals Akihiko's dry pillow and hands him the newly dampened one. "I hope you get a head cold."

"Charming," says Akihiko, accepting his fate calmly. He fluffs his new set of pillows into a comfortable arrangement and yawns quietly. "Wake me up when you're leaving."

"I will. Goodnight, Usagi-san."

"Mmm. Goodnight."

* * *

You will have probably encountered sucrose today, especially if you like tea or coffee or anything with great heaps of sugar poured into it - sucrose is table sugar, and extra-delicious. If it wouldn't rot my teeth, make me fat and give me diabetes, I would eat the damn stuff straight from the bag. Somedays even those things don't stop me.

Sucrose is a disaccharide - made of a glucose molecule and a fructose molecule joined together - as are most of the other sugars we'll be visiting next.


	26. Lactose

Akihiko has a book signing tour of Tokyo, and when he's not trapped in bookstores with hordes of fans, his publicity team resort to locking him in an expensive hotel so they can keep a hold of him. This gives Misaki a week alone, to relax and eventually mope without the man. By the middle of the week he's resorting to trawling the news channels for any sight of the author, dressed in his tuxedo and looking frankly edible.

He resorts to cleaning to distract himself, and, as he had a tendency to do, came across one of his photo albums. Inside are his collections of Akihiko photos, from an itsy-bitsy toddler to a sexily pouting teenager to the strapping gorgeous adult author. There is a pleasing range of tuxedos and suits on display, especially in Misaki's teenaged Akihiko collection – the boy is lithe and slim and achingly pretty, dressed primly in his school uniform or to the nines in his handsome shirts and sweaters and tailored trousers.

There are few pictures of Akihiko actually with anyone, except one smaller boy with rich chestnut hair and a perpetual scowl. There is a grand total of one photo of Akihiko standing beside his father; he's probably about sixteen years old and looks horrified to be anywhere near his sire. Probably because his father is wrapping his own scarf around his son's neck, one of the fluffy white lengths that Akihiko still favours.

Misaki can't lie – this version of Akihiko is lovely, teenaged and gorgeous and very fuckable. Even thinking it makes Misaki blush so hard he thinks his cheeks might burst into flames, but it's undeniably true.

He's done some thoughtful calculations, just so any fantasies he has are accurate, and has figured out that this teenaged Akihiko is probably about the same height as he is, maybe a touch smaller. This prompts a series of dreams that result in quite a few more loads of laundry, and him cursing Usagi-san roundly. How can the man drive him so utterly insane when he's not even there? It doesn't seem right.

One of the dreams is particularly pleasing, even if it is massively humiliating to wake up sticky and panting at twenty-three. In it Akihiko is small and lissom and delicious looking, and Misaki gets to pin him down, unsurely at first but gaining confidence quickly, and have his way with him. His imagination almost horrifies him with the things it makes the teenaged version of his lover do, but when he realises that the grown Akihiko had been the one to teach him those things he's less worried and more disgruntled.

This dream plagues him like a malevolent ghost, lodging itself in an easily accessible cubby in his brain, so he dislodges it every time he thinks of anything else. Even thoughts of economics or literature cause it to start playing, to the point where he finds himself scribbling down a synopsis of his tormenter rather than an essay on the finer points of Japanese literature. He doesn't think the demon professor will appreciate that in the slightest, and ends up shredding the page in case it falls into the wrong hands.

Finally, after a night where he can't fall asleep for fear of the dream rising up and claiming him again – and because he's running out of laundry detergent – Misaki decides enough is enough. Usagi-san had said that if he grew up, he was free to 'take him on'. So what if he had a foot or so to grow in height? His diet was fairly spare on the dairy front, an addition there would surely give him a shot at reaching the man's chin at the very least? And exercise! That would help bulk him out!

He actually runs to the store to fetch in provisions.

* * *

Usami Akihiko, popular author, son of a prestigious family and general all round corruptor of young Japanese men, arrives home four days later, looking tired and beyond irritated.

Misaki would have been at the door to greet him and hand him a beer and try to sweeten his cataclysmic bad mood, except that he was too busy huddling on the sofa and wishing his stomach would stop trying to turn itself inside out.

"Are you all right?" Akihiko chucks his coat in the vague direction of the hook and kicks his shoes off haphazardly.

"I feel so ill…" Misaki cuddles further into himself, only to uncurl into Akihiko's flank when the man sits down beside him. "Like my stomach is rebelling against me." A cool hand presses to his forehead, but Akihiko says nothing about a temperature; they've long since worked out that the man's cold hands make every other body temperature but his own feel like a fever. As a comfort, though, it works very well and Misaki feels a bit put out when the man excuses himself to change into something more comfortable.

He comes back down in a new pair of black trousers, the ones which he's worn so much they've become velvety with wear, and one of his cashmere jumpers. Misaki almost demands he come back to the sofa and sit down again so he can cuddle into the softness and be comforted, but holds his tongue as the man goes to the fridge.

A sense of dread drapes over his head and he shoots up, off the sofa. He's only half way to the kitchen by the time Akihiko makes a perplexed noise and brings out a carton.

"Milk? When did you get this?" He pauses and then asks, "Have you actually made yourself ill?" Akihiko sorts through the various bottles and tubs in the fridge with a baffled expression. "This is all dairy. All of it! Is this what you do when I leave you alone? Binge massively on dairy products?"

Misaki gives him a slightly green look and then starts forward when the man makes to put the carton of milk into the bin. "Don't waste food, Usagi-san!"

"But you can't eat it!" The man sighs and looks at the milk carton, still with that bemused look on his face. His eyes light on a sentence and then a look of canny realisation drapes over his face. "Ah. I see."

Misaki takes a step back and pales. He hadn't expected to be found out so fast! He'd hoped to have a few minutes to distract Akihiko with some inadvertent innuendo and give himself a few days to hide the offending produce. Damn the man for being so quick-witted! "I should go and have a rest…" He manages before a hand catches him by the elbow, and the offending milk carton is waved in front of his face.

"Oh, yes," Akihiko purrs, a long index finger tapping the sentence that reads, 'With extra calcium for growing bones!' in an exuberant red font. "Growing boys do need a lot of rest…" He lets Misaki go, though, and nearly skips back into the kitchen. "I'll just be in here, enjoying a nice glass of cold milk. Can't let this go to waste!"

"You'll make yourself ill," says Misaki warningly. It wouldn't be beyond Usagi-san to gulp down the rest of the various products and end up in the same pain Misaki was in hours earlier.

Akihiko reappears, complete with a tall glass filled with milk. He sips it thoughtfully, leaving a slight line of white across his top lip. Misaki becomes acutely aware of his own pulse roaring in his ears when the man licks it away with a thoughtful expression. "I was brought up on this stuff," he says cheerfully. "Even in Japan, they fed me tonnes of dairy products to keep my weight up." He glances down at himself and smiles. "I think I grew up fairly well."

"Only physically!" says Misaki, and regrets it immediately. Akihiko laughs, and a small wave of milk spills over the rim of the glass and runs over his fingers. He laps them clean, and then trails his mouth up the side of the glass to clean up the remaining liquid. "Oh…" His dream, which he had blessedly forgotten in his misery, lurches to the forefront of his mind, where the teenaged Akihiko would lap Misaki's fingers clean of himself with a pink tongue, savouring the taste and smiling widely.

"Misaki? Misaki!" He comes back to reality to find Usagi-san peering down at him, looking concerned. They're inches from one another, and at this distance it's impossible to ignore the height that Misaki's going to have to grow to even have a chance at pinning the stupid bastard down.

He pouts and crosses his arms. "Why do you have to be so damned tall?" he snaps and storms off. Akihiko stays behind and drinks his milk, smiling wickedly to himself.

* * *

Lactose is found in milk and other dairy products, and is a disaccharide made of a glucose and a galactose molecule. Babies have the ability to digest this sugar, but most people lose it as they grow older, and become lactose intolerant.

Lactose intolerance varies by region – Northern European countries have a low incidence of lactose intolerance, while places like China, Japan and South East Asia have very high rates of it. This is related to the amount of dairy farming which occurs in these areas – it originated in Europe, and so people who could flourish on lactose rich foods survived to have more children with the same ability.

I looked up scientific articles for this! Don't let it be said I don't do anything for you lot! =P


	27. Maltose

It's not that he doesn't trust the boy, because he does. It's just he doesn't trust anyone else. This is Akihiko's problem, and this is why he waits up to 2.00am for Misaki to return from a editor's night out.

It doesn't help that Akihiko has been on nights out with editors before, and he's seen them put the drink away. Only his mother can drink more, and she had several decades of intense training behind her. A bottle of vodka a day keeps the doctor very close, but that's all right if he's attractive and you have dubious views on the concept of marriage.

Misaki arrives with a horde of drunkenly singing men and women, who serenade the callbox in various piercing tenors and sopranos until the young man stumbles through Akihiko's door and he can safely tell them to fuck off without having to worry about them kidnapping his precious Misaki.

"A glass of water and then bed," he tells Misaki firmly. The student cackles and clings to Akihiko's shirt – he had stayed dressed in case he needed to go fetch the boy. "What?"

"You're pretty," slurs Misaki happily, attempting to reach up and stroke Akihiko's cheek. He misses and Akihiko decides that for both his own safety and sanity, Misaki can forgo remaining conscious long enough to have a drink and just go to bed. The hangover will be a lesson in itself.

* * *

Sure enough, when Misaki wakes late the next morning, the first thing the boy does is give a throttled moan and curl into a ball. Beside him, Akihiko stretches lazily, working each of his sleep heavy muscles into order before he gets up. The bed shifts as he stands, and Misaki gives another groan.

"I'll get you water and some aspirin. Anything else?"

"Basin," says Misaki shortly. Akihiko decides to get that first.

* * *

Thankfully, Misaki manages not to throw up but he remains distinctly green around the gills all the same. He accepts the aspirin and water gladly, if in a very subdued manner. Akihiko is almost tempted to tease the boy, but takes one look at the gloomy face and chooses not to. He remembers his first hangover acutely.

"Want anything else?" he eases himself down onto his own side of the bed and plucks at the lint on his pyjamas.

"Death," says Misaki firmly, "A new liver. A reminder never to drink ever, ever again."

"How about toast?"

Even the thought of food turns Misaki's pallor a shade greyer. He turns onto his side and half leans over the side of the bed, so he's in range of the basin. Akihiko changes the subject hurriedly.

"It could be worse," he says, resisting the urge to inch away. He really doesn't like people throwing up, much more so than the average person; it recalls unpleasant memories of his mother after a binge. The thought makes his own stomach twist uncomfortably, but if it's Misaki, he'll stay put.

"How exactly could it be worse?" Misaki sounds displeased.

"The first time I got drunk I was fourteen, and my parents were having a house party. The waiters kept serving me wine, and I was absolutely off my face by ten o'clock. Tanaka-san tried to persuade me to go back to my room, but my brother intercepted me and we had a fight in the corridor." He smiles to himself. "Somehow I manage to trip him up; he ended up with a severe concussion, but I didn't know that because I had gotten distracted and wandered off as soon as he fell over. Went back to my room, slept for a couple hours, and woke up to find the party over and my father very, very angry at me."

He yawns, grimacing as his jaw crunches. "It's the only time I've ever seen my father angry enough to hit me." Another thought strikes him. "Aside from the time when he found out I was sleeping with my tutor." A few more thoughts pop up as well – late nights out, returning to a dark house, a nearly frantic Tanaka-san and, when the man woke up, an irate father. Or the time he had come home fairly well stoned, having partaken in some rather interesting cigarettes. He doesn't mention those.

"You must have been a fun child to parent," says Misaki gloomily, still leaning over the side of the bed.

"Well, I 'm not saying I was perfect." He smiles dryly. "But I still don't think I deserved being smacked across the face by my own father."

It takes a few seconds for Misaki to work this out, and then he sits up with a horrified expression. "He really hit you?"

"Dislocated my jaw," says Akihiko cheerfully. "Turned out he was drunk as well. I got away with absolute murder for three months after that. It was fantastic."

"Fantastic?" Misaki makes a face.

"Not even my mother was allowed to get me in trouble." He smiles at the memory. "Of course, I couldn't talk properly, and I couldn't chew anything, but it was worth it."

Misaki retains the face. "You are not normal."

"Oh, of course not." Akihiko's acutely aware he's being judged and finds himself aching to bring the boy down a peg or two. "After all, I'm 'pretty'."

The face drops away in spectacular style and Misaki gapes at the man in horror. "That didn't really happen did it?"

"Well, you informed me of my attractiveness and then attempted to grope me," he leers cheerfully at the younger man. "Anything else is a product of the inhibition destroying alcohol, god bless its chemical little soul."

* * *

Maltose is formed by two glucose molecules joined together, and is found in germinating seeds. It is used as a sweet in China, Hong Kong, Taiwan and Macau, and is important in brewing processes.

Malted grains are used to make beer, whisky, malt vinegar, sweets like Malteasers and some types of bread, like malt loaf (which is commonest in the UK, and highly delicious. Om nom nom.)

The summary was from a quote by Seneca, "Drunkeness is nothing but voluntary madness."


	28. Trehalose

"What do you want for tea, Usagi-san?"

"I'm in the mood for mushrooms, I think."

A pause. "… That's not a meal…"

"A meal can contain them."

"A meal can also contain green peppers, if you aren't more helpful!"

"Mushrooms and green peppers?" A contemptuous sniff. "Maybe not."

"There are plenty of things I can make with both in! You don't like my food then you can star-vvvv _eeee_ – Usagi-san, let go!"

Heavy breathing and then a thud. Footsteps back to a creaky office chair. "A mushroom omelette would be nice!" Such a chirpy, innocent voice, with a growling undertone that promised distinctly un-innocent things in the future.

Misaki hates Usagi-san so much right now, mostly because he now has an aching erection and it's hard to cook with one in the way. Can a person die from green pepper overdose? Perhaps this is the evening to find out? He thinks it is indeed.

* * *

Trehalose is found in mushrooms, especially shiitake, maitake and nameko types, as well as some plants and invertebrate animals, like insects and various weird microscopic wiggly things. It allows cells to survive long periods of extreme dehydration, and retains massive amounts of water. As another random fact - it was first synthesised from a substance made by weevils: this is what scientists do with their lives, prod weevil leavings until sugar falls out.


	29. Cellobiose

The moment Aikawa advises Akihiko to maybe take a break from writing in a while, he knows he's in trouble.

He's a naturally prolific author, writing constantly because that's simply what he does, but he's feeling the strain now. It's been nearly half a year of non-stop writing, for one pen-name and another, for columns and short stories, for scripts, for things he never intends for anyone to see, and he's feeling stretched thin, like he's spread his soul throughout all of these things and there's not quite enough left for himself.

Aikawa leaves with the latest manuscript in her bag and a bright smile on her face, and Akihiko is alone in the penthouse. The urge to get up and fetch his laptop is overwhelming, but instead he gets up and paces to the bathroom so he can look at himself in the mirror.

Akihiko recognises that, normally, he cuts quite a handsome figure – probably the only benefit he received from being his parents' son – but today, like quite a lot of the days previously, he looks dreadful. He hasn't had time to realise that he's gaunt and grey-skinned, and his hair looks like someone's locked him in a filthy dungeon and then rescued him via a hedge. Up until this point his eyes had only ached dryly, but looking at the red-rims makes him acutely aware of just how sore they are. Rinsing his face with cool water helps slightly, but also serves to remind him of how thirsty he really is.

He goes back to the kitchen and turns the coffee machine on. The hum, which up until now he had always found comforting, saws repeatedly on his few remaining nerves and so he has to go lean his head against the glass of the balcony windows until he hears the familiar beep.

The coffee tastes like ink. Akihiko sips it again thoughtfully and then decides to pour it down the sink rather than poison himself.

* * *

At some point over the past week, Usagi-san has stopped eating. It was rare the man would miss meals, but occasionally his attention span would collapse, and he'd spend lunchtime at his laptop instead so Misaki wasn't worried until he realised that the man also wasn't writing.

"Usagi-san?" He leans over the back of the sofa and peers at the man curiously. Recently he's remained un-molested, since the man has been so busy working, so he's able to examine his lover much more closely.

It's true that for the last couple months, Akihiko hasn't been looking quite as suave and debonair as normal, but it's reaching worrying levels. It's currently five in the afternoon and the man's still wearing his sleep wear, his hair uncombed and unwashed and his eyes tired and stressed. For the life of him, Misaki cannot think why. The last novel – something Aikawa had crowed over as a natural bestseller, a true masterpiece – had been finished the week before, and the author's laptop had sat alone and unused in his study ever since. By this stage, Akihiko should have been perking up and considering another story, but this time he was simply not writing at all. Misaki hadn't seen him so much as sign his name to anything.

The man blinks slowly and manages a smile which doesn't quite reach his eyes and has barely any effect on his lips anyway. "Yes?" he croaks, still looking distant and vague. Misaki is almost tempted to click his fingers in front of the man's eyes to see if he can focus in on anything, but then decides that might be a bit obvious.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asks, tone of voice making it obvious that if Akihiko says he does, he's either lying or absolutely insane.

"I…" The man pauses waves a hand, less elegant and moving onto skeletal territory. He's clearly in the process of trying to lie, and then gives up with a lugubrious sigh, flopping back onto the sofa and closing his eyes. "No. I feel dreadful."

Misaki flutters for a second, caught unawares by the admission, and then lunges straight into 'caring' mode. "What's wrong? Is it your stomach? Or are you coming down with something? I'll get you some water and a couple aspirin. Would you like a blanket? You'll catch cold lying down here without a blanket while you're sick!"

For someone who's not feeling the best, Akihiko still moves with lightning speed. He catches Misaki's wrist and tugs him over the back of the sofa easily, ignoring the angry flailing, and pulls him into a hug. After his traditional screaming is finished with, Misaki relaxes into the grip and realises, to his horror, that Usagi-san's hug isn't quite as strong as it would normally be.

"I'm just tired, that's all." His voice doesn't have the same comforting rumble to it anymore; Misaki can almost hear the wheeze in his chest replacing it. It's also not as comfortable to lie on top of the man anymore – a week of not eating has started to have a noticeable effect on the man's weight, and Misaki is acutely aware of a ribcage and hipbones jabbing into him, where previously a layer of muscle had softened the edges. He doesn't want to remain on top of Akihiko for fear of crushing him, and scrambles off to perch on the edge of the sofa instead.

"Maybe you should have something to eat?" He eyes Akihiko's lips thoughtfully and then adds, "And definitely something to drink."

"Something to drink would be nice," says Akihiko in a vague way. Misaki leaps up and fetches a glass of water to start with. He'll buy some fruit juice the next time he's out, and maybe some vitamins. For now, he'll just have to keep the man filled with water and hope hydration will keep him going for as long as possible.

He leaves Usagi-san with the glass of water and orders to drink it all, slips on his shoes and grabs his coat and wallet. No time like the present after all – he'll get in some ingredients for soup and make something nutritious and easy to eat for dinner tonight.

* * *

Even the water tastes wrong. Akihiko sips as much as he can bear to, so Misaki won't be too displeased, and then shoves it as far across the coffee table as he can get it.

Food seems like a good idea in theory, but in practise Akihiko isn't so sure. Even Misaki's best meals taste… strange, like misspelled words.

Did he just think that?

Akihiko sits up and rests his forehead in his hands. He keeps catching himself thinking really strange things, relating everything to writing in any sort of vague metaphor he can think of. It's a worry, mostly because he does have precedent of this – when he was younger and living alone, rattling out novels and university essays at the same time, he had gone through a period of being so obsessed with the written word he had been almost unable to operate in the real world. The whole thing had ended with his grandfather hauling him away from his keyboard and his books and threatening to have him institutionalised if he didn't start being normal again.

If he was honest with himself, he was probably more upset that it was his writing habit that seemed to be causing these problems. It was his job to write, his life. The only reason he lived was to have a chance to write, and if that was causing him to go insane, then what was the point?

"Fuck," he breathed quietly. Even thinking about it made him feel worse. He wished that Misaki hadn't left, and had stayed to coddle him a bit more. If he was left alone for too long, he reckoned his brain would tie itself into knots thinking about this and leave him huddled in his bed praying for an early death. Again.

* * *

Misaki was outside the book store, eyeing one of the displays of Usagi-san's works and feeling terribly uncultured that he had read a grand total of two of them, when someone called his name frantically.

He wobbled around, struggling to balance with the number of bags in both his hands, and spotted Akihiko, inching through the crowds of after-work shoppers, doing his best not to touch anyone.

"What are you doing out?" Misaki eyes the man anxiously – he had at least changed from his pyjamas, but his trousers were crumpled and his shirt buttons done up wrongly. He still had that dreadful vagueness in his eyes, but there was also a distinct wild look as well that Misaki had never seen before. "Are you running a fever or something?"

"I think I'm going insane." Akihiko smiled brightly, like he wasn't entirely aware he was in public. "And I thought I should find you before I did, so I could tell you that I love you."

Misaki gaped at the man and then glanced around nervously; the crowds were too busy for anyone to have heard, but he was still angry Usagi-san would nearly out them both like that. "Are you actually mad?" he hisses, shoving the man lightly. "Don't say shit like that here!"

"But it's true." Usagi-san's smile died as he looked in through the book store window and spotted the display of his books. Misaki watched the man read over all the titles with a pensive expression on his face and then ended up utterly baffled by his next words. "I put so much of _me_ into those things there's just not enough left so I can carry on normally. I thought I should tell you I love you, just so when I forget that, you can remind me."

"I… You…" Misaki sets his bags down and wrings his hands anxiously, rubbing at the stricture marks where the plastic handles have cut into his palms. Usagi-san is acting very, very, very oddly. Does he think that his books are stealing his soul or something? This had started after he'd finished the last novel, the one Aikawa had loved, and he had worked so unbelievably hard on that one… Thinking about it, the past year had been a hard slog of almost constant writing. Could it be that the author had actually managed to drive himself into a breakdown with overwork? If that was true, then Misaki had no idea how to deal with the situation – his only thought was to contact Aikawa-san and ask if she knew what to do, but she was going to be hellishly busy getting the new book ready for publication... He swallowed and picked up his bags again. "Come on, Usagi-san, let's go home, yeah? I'll make you some soup?"

"I'm not really hungry," said Akihiko, obediently trailing after Misaki anyway.

"Let's go home!" repeated Misaki, slightly louder than before.

* * *

He makes a magnificent pot of soup, brimming with vegetables and goodness and nutrition. He ladles it out into bowls and tries to tempt Usagi-san with it. Instead of eating, Akihiko merely stares at it, hand twitching uncontrollably on the edge of the table. Misaki eases himself down into his own chair and watches, concerned, as he eats his own food.

Finally he sets down his spoon, and demands, "What's wrong with you?"

"Hmm?" Akihiko looks up; his eyes have that terrible brightness that comes with fever or high emotion, and Misaki strains to reach across the table so he can feel for a fever on the man's forehead. "I'm just…" He opens and closes his mouth, searching for a word, and then gives up with a shrug. That's what worries him the most – Usagi-san doesn't give up on sentences, ever.

"Just what?" he pries.

"Mmm…" Akihiko doesn't even try this time, and shrugs. Misaki sits very still for a moment and then gets up and grabs the other man's spoon. "What are you doing?"

"If you won't eat, I will feed you myself!" he barks. "You're acting weird!"

Akihiko jerks away when the spoon jabs towards him, and takes Misaki's hand in his own. "Fine, fine, I'll eat…" He plucks the spoon away and sips lethargically; Misaki hovers for a moment and then paces back to his own chair slowly, normally the author would have happily succumbed to being coddled. At least the man is eating again.

It takes the man half an hour to eat half the bowl of soup, and then Misaki gives up on watching him and goes to do his homework.

* * *

When he came back down, Akihiko was still at the table, leaning on his hand and fast asleep. Misaki removes the bowl from beneath his chin, so Usagi-san won't slip off his fist and drown himself in his left-over soup, and washes the dishes.

He's soapy to the elbows and trying to undo his apron when he glances up and finds Akihiko sprawled forward on the table, head cushioned on his forearms. The man is sleeping uneasily, his face crumpled in a frown and his breathing shallow and irregular. Misaki rinses the soap off and goes to see if he can be any use at soothing the man.

Akihiko's hair is lank and not very pleasant to touch, but Misaki combs his fingers through it until the worst of the tats are worked out, and then takes another peek at the man's face. The scowl has eased slightly, but he's still not comfortable, so Misaki pokes him in the ribs and leaps back, holding his apron like a matador's cape. Akihiko sits up slowly and blinks.

"You should go to bed," says Misaki firmly. "And if you're not better by tomorrow morning, you're going to the doctor's."

Akihiko doesn't complain, and does as he's told. Misaki scurries after him at a safe distance to make sure he gets into bed properly, and then watches over him until his breathing evens out again.

* * *

Akihiko's dreams are twitchy and unpleasant and confusing. He keeps waking up in terror and then sinking back into sleep before he can convince himself they aren't real.

Finally, he drifts into a deep dreamless stupor, and when he awakens from that, his brain falters and stutters to comprehend even the calm gloom of his bedroom. Slowly, he eases himself up and glances about – Misaki is fast asleep next to him, mouth slightly open as he snores. It's rather adorable, and a smile appears on Akihiko's face unbidden. He strokes Misaki's hair gently, a memory rising from the depths of his dreams of someone doing the same for him and soothing his pain immeasurably, the one good vision amidst the nightmares.

It's not fun, being insane. Not even sitting by Misaki and watching him comfortable and sleeping holds much in the way of joy for him anymore. He eases himself out of bed and pads out of the room, heading to the study by sheer habit. Inside, the screensaver on his computer is flickering on and off, illuminating patches of the bookshelf against the opposite wall. Every flash of light highlights another book that Akihiko has poured too much of himself into, leaving him like this – stretched thin and twanging precariously.

Perhaps, if he reads them back, he'll find what he's put into them? Could he claim himself back that way?

* * *

Misaki had been hoping that food and sleep would calm Akihiko down to a sensible level, but when he wakes to the sound of hardback books being launched over the landing and down onto the main floor, something tells him it hasn't worked quite the way he had wanted it to.

He finds Akihiko in the middle of his study floor, surrounded by books and looking slightly upset.

"What the hell," he asks, "Are you doing?"

"Reading," says Akihiko tersely, turning a page with some amount of force and casting his eyes down the type. He doesn't seem pleased at what he reads and tosses it at the door – this time he misses the doorway, which Misaki appreciates because he's standing in it, and the book bounces off the frame and sprawls pages down on the floor. The title catches Misaki's eye, and he realises that what Akihiko is doing is attempting to read his own novels. This is not something that Akihiko tends to do, unless it's one of his BL titles and he's trying to embarrass Misaki.

"Why are you reading?" he tries.

"My own soul," says Akihiko, choosing another a book.

"Ohhh- _kay_ …" Misaki wrings his hands. "But those are _books_ …"

Akihiko shoots him a deadly look. "I'm aware of that!" he barks. "I've already told you: when I write these, I put my heart and soul into them. And I want it back!"

There's a level of desperate ferocity in his words, and Misaki resists the urge to take a step back in fear. He tries to school his face into the blank expression Akihiko is normally so good at, but finds it much harder than it seems; his lover glances up at the sustained silence and spots the look of terror on Misaki's face.

His shoulders slump like someone has cut his strings, and he drops the book onto the floor carelessly before standing.

"I'm sorry," he says, tipping his head forward until his fringe covers his eyes. Misaki hates it when he does that, and the tension and worry and fear bubbling inside him boils over for a moment.

"Then stop it!" he yells, clenching his fists with the force of his anger. "I'll excuse you acting weird for a bit, but this is too much! Stop it!"

"I… I can't." Akihiko is staring at him wide-eyed and shocked.

"Try! This is ridiculous now!" He takes a deep breath and then snaps, "You're scaring me, acting like this! I want you to be normal again!"

"Not once have I ever heard you accusing me of being normal," says Akihiko, trying a smile on for size.

"Normal for you," clarifies Misaki sharply. "And I want you to _be_ normal, not just pretending. I can tell the difference, you know! And I hate _you_ being like this!" Somehow he emphasises quite the wrong word there, and he grimaces as he realises what he's accidentally implied.

Akihiko's smile is now twisted, like half of his face isn't up to the task of pretending he's sane. "Maybe you should leave," he says and walks away without another word.

Misaki sighs and runs his hands through his hair. He isn't equipped to deal with this sort of thing in the slightest, and the idea of taking Usagi-san's suggestion and running to his brother's house until it blows over is incredibly tempting. But he can't leave. It's not just that he won't leave – he wouldn't leave anyway – but that he simply cannot. Leaving Usagi-san to stew on his own seems incredibly unfair, especially when it doesn't seem to be anyone else who can help.

He looks about distractedly, flicking his gaze from book to book, all scattered across the floor, pages wiggling in the air like the legs of an upturned spider. Usagi-san hasn't managed to get even a couple pages through each one before discarding it, and now the place is an absolute tip. Misaki sits down on the computer chair heavily and picks the nearest novel up, crushes the pages back evenly and flattens the cover down.

Outside, he can hear Usagi-san tramping about incessantly, muttering to himself in a dark undertone. Normally, Misaki would go out there and tell him to stop his fidgeting, but today it seems a better plan to let the man work out some of his agitated energy before Misaki goes anywhere near him again. Instead, he flattens the cover of the novel again, sighs and clasps his head in his hands again.

He has to figure this out. If he doesn't, Akihiko will do something stupid and that makes his heart clench in a really horrible fashion to even think about. Hell, even the man's frantic attempts to regain his normality make Misaki feel a bit teary – the desperate flicking through the books in order to regain what he'd poured into them. At the very least it was an excellent indicator of just how much the man put into his works if he was so convinced he had lost himself to them.

His body is shaking with tiredness and emotion by now, his feet jiggling uncomfortably on the floor, and the novel slips down his lap to balance precariously on his kneecaps, front cover bending open slightly as the pages within re-succumbed to their previous brutal treatment. For want of anything else to do, Misaki opens it again and runs an eye across the first page.

He has tried to read Akihiko's novels before, maybe managed it once or twice and enjoyed them very much when he did, but part of him wants to keep them unknown and secret, something to be discovered and enjoyed at a later date. Plus, he's always afraid it's all going to be much too highbrow for him and he'll end up feeling even more unintelligent.

The first line is perfect, brain-bendingly good prose. Misaki pauses and then reads the second, marvelling at the way Akihiko has pieced the words together and woven emotion into black ink. This is what his lover pours himself into nearly every day; this is what his lover _is_.

If he can distil the author back out of the words, maybe then he'll be able to remind Akihiko of just who he is, and the man will stop acting so dreadfully weird… If not, then it'll at least fill in the rest of the night, and maybe the morning will bring some clarity.

* * *

What wakes Akihiko this time is a trio of paperback books being dropped onto his toes, and Misaki looming at the foot of the bed, red-eyed and looking just as unbalanced as Usagi-san feels.

"There! I've read those, and therefore, by your insane logic, I know everything about you that you put into them! And really, do you actually write a hatred of green peppers into every book you write? There's always been at least one character that hates them!"

Akihiko blinks stupidly. "Why are you..?"

"Because you love me!" he shouts, blushing hard. "And you clearly need me to remind me of this stuff, otherwise you'll carry on being nuts!"

"I do love you, don't I?" murmurs Akihiko, a very familiar kind look drifting onto his face.

Misaki looks away and crosses his arms across his chest, scowling, "Yes, you told me so."

"Outside the book store, yes?"

"Yeah, it wasn't even twenty four hours ago, I'd expect you to remember it!"

"And you made soup, too."

Misaki stares at the man. What on earth..? "Yes. You didn't it all, and then you nearly feel asleep in the bowl."

Akihiko makes a surprised face and says, "I don't remember that."

"Do you remember getting up in the middle of the night, and going absolutely insane trying to read your own books?"

"No… Did I really? I remember arguing with you, though…"

Misaki nods and then asks, "Why do you only remember the stuff to do with me?" And writing, he says to himself in the sanctity of his own head; the man had long since figured out what had made him go crazy.

"Because I love you. You're important." Akihiko says this like it's self-evident. "You're the most important thing I have."

The pang that shoots through Misaki's heart startles him, and he slowly realises what Akihiko has just said. The _most_ important thing. Misaki had mentioned writing to himself, but Akihiko had blanked it completely. He looks down at the small pile of books sitting on Akihiko's bed sheets and sighs. At least the novels were good… He supposes he could read a few more of them, if he really has to…

* * *

He's halfway through the third book when Akihiko excuses himself from bed to fetch a jug of water and a pair of cups.

A few hours later, head aching and eyes burning in his head, Misaki becomes suddenly aware that Usagi-san has once more vanished from bed. A chapter later the man returns in fresh pyjamas, with wet, squeaky-clean hair and a closely shaved jawline. He tucks himself around Misaki again, neatly stealing all the pillows for himself, and sighs contentedly. Misaki allows one of his hands to drift down to stroke the damp locks currently drying on his pillowcase. He should grumble about it, but he's feeling benevolent, so instead he leans back against Akihiko's chest and pushes firmly against the man's ribcage until he hears a grumbly huff of breath.

"I've told you before about drying your hair on my pillows," he says sweetly, setting the book down as hands sneak around his waist and tug him down to fit in the curve of Akihiko's body. "Are you feeling any better?" he asks quietly.

"Much," says Akihiko, and already Misaki can feel the familiar rumble returning to his voice and replacing the weakened wheeze in his chest. "I'm sorry."

"Mmph…" Misaki huddles down and tucks his head into the man's neck, sniffing tentatively for his soap and smiling when he smells it, "Just don't do it again. Or if you're going to, give me a head's up, at the very least."

"All right."

* * *

Aikawa comes back in a week with the final proofs, laying them out on the coffee table and pointing out small places where she's corrected something or thinks something should be removed or added or clarified. Akihiko sips his coffee and says little, but agrees that the proof looks fine and it can all go to printing, while Misaki is loitering nearby under the guise of washing the kitchen floor.

As she's leaving, slotting the manuscript back into her bag, the editor says, "So what's your next to be about then, sensei?" She giggles, not noticing the slightly twitchy look that appears on the author's previously blank face.

Misaki drops the sponge back in the bucket and pops up from behind the counter, making Aikawa jump slightly. "Sorry, Aikawa-san, he's taking a break for a while. Otherwise he was going to drive me mad." He smiles glassily, but the woman seems to take it at face-value and giggles some slightly barbed comment about how Misaki is a saint to cope with Akihiko at all.

"Do you get paid to insult me?" asks the man in question, sipping his coffee and grimacing.

"I might as well, for all the actual work you do," growls Aikawa, but there's no proper malice in her voice. She produces a box of chocolates for Misaki and excuses herself, chuckling with glee to be on her way to the printer's.

"What am I meant to do if you won't let me write?" asks Akihiko leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter and peering over to get a glimpse of Misaki's rear-end as he scrubbed ferociously at the floor.

"Find a new talent," says Misaki shortly, very aware of exactly where this is heading. He can see Usagi-san moving out of the corner of his eye, and tenses instinctively as the man enters the kitchen. A long stride lands Akihiko onto the not-yet-clean portion of the floor, and Misaki glares at the man's shins until he sits down cross-legged in front of him. "What is it, Usagi-san?"

"There really isn't much point in cleaning a floor that's not dirty," opines the man in an absent tone. Misaki pre-emptively drops the sponge back in the bucket again, and sidles onto a dry patch himself so his work so far won't be ruined. He's pulled forward onto Akihiko's lap and he's so happy to see the man acting like himself again, he chooses not to complain this once. Akihiko's lips are soft against his throat as the man murmurs, "I have other _talents_ I could practise, if you want me to…"

"Don't be perverted in the kitchen," says Misaki hopelessly, but he doesn't resist, and allows himself to be pushed onto the floor, Usagi-san looming over him. The man smiles, an expression that's still shattered around the edges but mostly whole again, and bows his head to kiss Misaki once.

"Thank you, Misaki."

"Well I couldn't -" He stops talking abruptly, not sure about what he really means there. It's probably best to leave it to the imagination, he decides in the end.

* * *

Cellobiose is made of two glucose molecules, and is obtained by breaking down cellulose. Cellulose is found in plant cells, and therefore anything made of plants – like cotton, jute (a sort of plant fibre-y type material) or paper. Cellobiose is not typically found in nature, and cannot be digested by humans.

The summary quote is from Anne Morrow Lindbergh, an American writer and aviator (she was married to Charles Lindbergh). The full quote is, "I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living."

Sooooo…. What I like to think happened in this is that Akihiko worked himself into the ground long ago, and then kept working regardless, and it all snowballed into a breakdown. Thankfully, Misaki was there! He saves the day in the end, because Akihiko realises that he's loved and cared about and this halts the downward spiral he's trapped in, otherwise the poor sod would have probably ended up lighting his books on fire to get his 'soul' back out of them – and all book lovers know what a terrible thing it is to burn a book. By the end, he's not fully back to par, but he's approaching it.

Anyway! I hope you enjoyed my sugars!


End file.
